Chapter One.

The Guardian Brothers.

Spring crept softly... almost furtively, into the western realms of Amriath that year. For still, the bitter, icing winds from off the grey, flinty mountains to the west tugged and whimpered about the tree-tops that surrounded the old Algethi Garrison of Calverstock, deep in the forest of the Delvlings that bordered the Kingdom of Lorenfalu. The fragile Moonflower buds were only now beginning to struggle bravely from the woodland floor through the last of the winter snows that lay all melting into spidery islands, creating a soft green-and-white patchwork amidst the trees.

Within the stout palisade walls of Calverstock; Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light, strode hastily across the Great Muster Yard in company with his son. The Lord Guardian of The Light was an imposing figure. He was not young, but then again… he was not old for an Algethi. He held in sum, something beyond four-score and ten-summers, and was sturdy and erect of frame; standing a little above three, and three-quarters cubits. His hair tumbled to his shoulders in silver waves, and he wore a full beard and moustache. His face was softly lined and weathered to the hue of young, autumn hazel nuts, and he gazed across the prospect of Calverstock out of wise, deep-Amethyst-violet eyes.

Both he, and his son were soundly cloak-wrapped against the chill as they progressed towards the Great Gathering Hall. As he strode across the Muster Yard, Eldamar gazed into the east, where the creeping twilight stood plain in the skies, cloud-tinged golden by the rays of the lowering evening sun. All was well. The Third Age of The Light lay upon them. Amriath had known peace and accord, these twenty summers past. However, it had not been ever thus.

It had not been thus… when, in his youth, he had ridden out to prosecute the Great Suhai War. It had not been thus… those two long, bitter summers, when at length, in the teeth of overwhelming odds arrayed against them; he, and his Sword-brothers laid destruction complete, upon The Suhai hosts at the Dreadful Battle of The Ragnor Redoubt, where now, ten thousand Darkling vermin mouldered in their Burial pits, and so polluted the earth that not one blade of grass, 'nor even a sturdy weed ever grew. It had not been thus… above twenty summers past, when the son who walked beside him now, was no more than the whisper of a gentle curving in his Mother's flat belly, and smoke hazed the skies above the lands of Astalan, far to the east beyond The Plain of Malphaers.

Astalan; where the Darkness stalked the land. Astalan; where The Mordbrood of Valdarthost pillaged and burned; laying waste all in their path, and at length, would turn to westward, intent on dragging The Shining Land down into The Darkness. It had not been thus… When Nine Guardians of The Light, and a Wraith-Hunter warrior maid; each and all, held in the Grace of The High Goddess Elaiana, had ultimately crushed The Mordbrood on the borders of The Plain of Malphaers. However, that was long ago.

Eldamar, and his younger son, Tharlan, reached the doorway of The Great Gathering Hall and entered into the warmth. It was the eve of Oimelc... the first day of spring. All now gathered to hear the reading of The Tarsius of Amriath; as had become the custom at this time of the year. The air inside the Hall was thick with the aroma of wood smoke from the great hearth, mingling with the thick, sweet smell of countless pipes of tobacco leaf. As the soft twilight crept in; the shadows huddled in the corners of the great communal space, and the thin, icy wind from out of the west whimpered around the eaves of the Hall.

The Old Storyteller sat in his great, oaken chair close by the hearth, where he was warm in the glow of the great log fire. He sat, surrounded by younglings he held firmly under his spell as he wove his tales of Imagining; of Mystery and Fable. Such wonders he could weave about them; and wide-eyed, they listened, and drank in the magic of such tales of things that the grown-ups no longer understood.

He told tales of Wizards and Warriors... of Dragons and Princes; tales of Fair Maidens and Unicorns, of Darklings and Ogres... the simply-told difference between Goodness and Evil. He read from a mighty, leather-bound volume, by the flickering light of the fat, honey-wax candles. The great volume was intricately tooled about with Leaf of Gold… with age, now fading dim. This then, was Volume, The First, of The Tarsius of Amriath... Enchantment, Adventure on each Vellum page.

The younglings sat enchanted by the tales. Not for them, the shadowy truths of The Tarsius of Amriath. Not for them, the bloody, and frightening history that lay within the rustling vellum pages. For, as it once had been, so might it be again. The Forces of The Darkness sought always to find some weakness; some means by which The Light might be vanquished, laying all open to the onset of the Third Age of Darkness.

This was why The Tell was made. Each year, the volumes of the Tarsius of Amriath were read from the beginning, through the span of five full-moon passings; betwixt the evening of the weaving of Oimelc Corn Maidens and the evening of the lighting of The Beltane Fires... so none might forget that which had gone before. This was why The Tarsius of Amriath had been first written during those dreadful, uncertain days. Thus, in the reading, would stand little doubt as to why The Forces of The Light - this last Bright, Shining Flower of the West, stood ever defying the Forces of The Darkness.

The Scribes had pondered at length. They knew full well, that such tales as they would fashion would be told around the hearth fire, with younglings surrounding the Old Storyteller. Perhaps, such truths should not stand so plain in the telling. Throughout Amriath, the Scribes dipped pen; labouring... laying out neat, the full sum of The Tell, deep into the night. By the flickering light of great, fat, tallow candles, the words scratchingly fell from their quills; tracing the sum of the Tell upon leaves of young parchment in spidery script that all could read and understand. The tongue of choice was Common Algethi; the Mother Tongue of all The Shining Lands. They wrote of all things that had come to passing, far back, and beyond The Great Suhai War. They wove in the Myth and Legend from out of The Wild, Wooded Lands, in the far distant days before the first Questors ever came from out of Astalan... those far distant days past, when the Wraith Hunters roamed the Deep Greening that cloaked the lands that one day, would be called Amriath.

The Tell would stand plain of Living and Dying; of Loving, and of Lusting. All things would here, be laid complete. Thus, at the first, they wrote as if it were a Sleeping Time tale... tales of Magic, full of soft, and gentle whimsy. This style was chosen to enchant the younglings with tales of Dragons and Princes, and Maidens and Ogres… such values for them to hold firm... the simply-told difference between Evil and Good. Yet, when the younglings were laid to their beds for sleeping, the Tell would grow bold and darkening... enough to give the younglings night terrors; and soon enough, they might well know terror. For always, The Darkness lay ready to engulf the Land. Always, it probed for some weakness. So, needs must... no time was lost in scribing the volumes, and laying forth the sum of the Tell, with the scratch and the dip of quill upon parchment, of quill into ink pot; as deep into the night, the fat candles dripped and dribbled, and the candle flames flickered and guttered.

. There, in the diverse scribed chapter and verse, stood but one name above all... one name that shone ever bright. A Great Oak standing tall in the Forest of Hoping... Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light.

The Guardians of The Light had overseen the security, prosperity, and well-being of the lands that comprised Amriath for as long as tales were remembered to be told. They were the custodians of the common good. Their office was passed from father to son or father to daughter. They were endowed with certain powers that some might call magical... albeit, they were not Wizards or Sorcerers in the accepted sense of the word. Their powers were more in alignment with the land and they were commonly said to be "Held in the Grace of The High Goddess Elaiana."

Additionally; such son or daughter could bestow these powers upon their marriage partners, if those partners possessed qualities worthy of such bestowal. These powers would be bestowed during their Bonding on the first evening immediately following their marriage. Accordingly; The Guardianship was held within one specific Dynasty and could never be weakened by diversification. Thus, in the matter of distant remembrance, the Great Volumes that would come to be called The Tarsius of Amriath were scribed; telling of what had bloomed here, should The Darkness ever prevail, and all memory of what was once The Oneness of The Light be forever lost.

The Old Story Teller cast his gaze at the great hourglass standing before him upon the table where his ancient silver tankard rested. The sands were swiftly running to their ending. He gazed about the ring of young, eager faces, and closed the great volume with a soft thud. A plaintive chorus of voices surrounded him...

'Just one more'…

And,

'We're not tired... please!'

He smiled benignly;

'Time and enough for more tales on the morrow. T'is far beyond your sleeping time; now... be gone! And may you sleep safe in the arms of The Great Mother's Dreaming.'

There was much dispute as to tiredness, and much disappointed pleading as the younglings' Mothers led them from The Great Gathering Hall. As they left, the Minstrels began singing the songs of The Heroes. The Hall was filled with the pleasing music of Shalaquin, Crystal flute, and Harp. A young Algethi Maiden came forward with a pitcher of Algethimeade and filled the ancient silver tankard of the Old Storyteller to the brim. He smiled his thanks to her, and mused awhile as the Minstrels sang of the Last Ride of Filar, Lord of the Thuvian Clan Buhrodar.

He took a deep draught of Algethimeade from his tankard, and wandered through his memories, back to the bright days in the west... back to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, that lay some three-Moons ride to the west of Calverstock… The Great Crystal Castle; where all that stood now, had laid its beginnings in those summers long since past. He smiled at the memories of Friends lost in Battle, Lovers lost by chance, or by design; and comrades who yet, still prevailed. Time and enough for the ponder. The Company was impatient for him to begin. He took another deep draught of Algethimeade; opened the great volume; raised his reading stone above the vellum page, and began the Tell.

In the soft heartland of Amriath, set amidst the bright, golden meadows and compassed about by the deep forest greening, there lay a tranquil Cornflower-Blue Mere. Upon an Islet thrusting forth from the placid blue waters; approached by a wide, sandy causeway, was raised a Great Crystal Castle; its towers and spires soaring serenely into the skies. Out on the shimmering, misty Mere, the Great Crystal Castle had once stood, glittering pale, and serene. But now, a drifting, nebulous haze clung to the Cornflower-Blue waters... a gossamer veil... a secret Enchantment. Deep in the lustrous, and luminous Great Hall, a beautiful Algethi Princess sat alone upon an Opaline Throne. She rested her head upon her hand, as, beset with her solitude, she wondered why could it be that no suitors came calling? Did they fear those great gryphons that safely guarded the Keep? She smiled wistfully. They only ever kept watch for Suhai. They were, in truth... no more frightening than great, winged kittens. Perhaps, she was not the beauty that men had long called her... perhaps, just too slender? But then, that is the nature of the Algethi. Perhaps then, her delicate, high cheekbones?... As she studied her image in a jewelled looking glass.

Thus, beset with sadness, she wandered her Great Crystal Castle, convinced of her fate to remain there alone. For though, Algethi maids can look deep into the hearts of men, that Grace has small virtue where there are no men to hand. And, though Algethi maids have the sight and the knowing; within that Great, Crystal Hall, she could not see, 'nor sense the Enchantment that the Suhai Overlord had malevolently woven all about her. The Hazy mist rising had no part in nature. Its purpose was to cloak her... to confound the eyes of all those young men who would seek to pay her court. The Great Crystal Castle remained unseen and unfound. At the edge of the Mere all beset with the hazing, they gazed out across the water, and then sadly turned away. Not for them, the knowing that the Great Crystal Castle lay out there, and therein, the sad Algethi Princess waited, in vain.

The beings; called by name: "Suhai"; were a brutish tribe, of uncomely demeanour. They were gaunt of stature, warty and blotchy of skin; ragged of tooth, and yellow of eye. Since the Age of The Beginnings, they had campaigned against the Algethi Realms; being in the employ of The Darkness. They were close-kin to The Taraks; one more tribe of ancient foes of the Algethi, but the Suhai were beset with a malignant resolve to destroy all vestige of The Light in the lands of Amriath. The whyfor of this resolve was lost in the mists of distant forgetfulness, but it was ever a lurking threat.

The Suhai Overlord had watched as the Princess had communed with the Unicorns... as is the gift of Maidens. She had warned them not to stray forth into the Suhai Lands. She had foreseen a venomous plot by the Suhai to capture the Unicorns, lop off their horns; and with their magic thus shorn, to yoke them into slavery down the Mines of Fuin. There, they would haul the carts filled of rich Golden Ore for which the Suhai held great lust.

The Unicorns hearkened to the Algethi Maid's warning. No-where near the Suhai Lands did they wander. The Suhai Overlord, thus thwarted, had invoked the dark, underworld magic to lock her away out of all sight and hearing; with her castle be-wreathed by the hazing mist out on the Cornflower-Blue Mere.

And there, she sadly languished, alone and unloved… her hopes softly fading, as hopes always do. Her only companions were her echoing footsteps that wandered beside her down the glittering hallways. She was ever condemned to see none, but her image that sadly gazed back at her from out of the shimmering crystal walls.

And so, the summers wandered and drifted, and still... The Great Crystal Castle was lost in the mist until... one day; a rider came down through the golden meadows from out of the west. He was a handsome young fellow... of, perhaps, three, and twenty summers; garbed in leather jerkin and breeches; and he rode a great white steed tacked with glittering harness. At his side was belted a Mighty sword. The Sun twinkled brightly on a deep purple Amethyst set into its pommel as he rode down to the edge of the Mere. There, he reined in his steed, gazing into the mist with a watchful grey stare. He was no young suitor searching for the Princess. There was a purpose to him standing there. He was no seeker of fame, 'nor of fortune; standing so silently by the pale, misty Mere.

Cloaked by the deep forest greening, the Suhai watched him gloatingly; but had they known his face, their gloat would most certainly drown in a terrible fear. For this rider was Marcus, The Son of Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light; from out of the western Shining Land. Marcus the Hunter... The Finder of Darkness, whose twin brother Tristan would be close by... for the brothers always rode together. Tristan... The Mighty Iron Hand of Eldamar; The Bane of The Darkness, and all it might conceal; Destroyer of Demons, Confounder of Witches; Suhai and Taraks, and all slithering things. Tristan; whose sword was the twin of his brother's, but, with a deep blue Topaz set into its pommel. Both these swords were Guardian swords of The Light; wrought by the hand of Eldamar's forge-master, an Algethi Master Sword-smith of shining virtue, who held the name of Elshore.

Moreover; each sword bore a name, and to each name, stood a brother. Each sword, for its purpose, was most carefully wrought. Tristan bore "Dagnorath"... "Bane of Black Terror." The long, slender blade was forged from finest Leissor; a rare, and precious metal from out of the depths of the mines in the Realm of Khallis far to the north. Marcus bore "Farahuine"... "Hunter of Darkness"... Leissor-bladed, but tempered and quenched by light of the Lammas moon. There was no blade abroad in the Darkling dominions... Suhai or Tarak that could match either in its fidelity and strength. Merely whispering the names of the Shining Land Riders struck dread into the black hearts of those Darkling vermin. The stark nemesis of Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light, now loomed upon them, with glittering swords that held the truth of their certain destruction.

Marcus stood by the shore of the pale, mist-cloaked Mere; unsheathing Farahuine, holding her high with her pommel aloft. The deep purple Amethyst caught the sun's rays in the clear, bright blueness of the sky. From out of the heart of the deep purple Amethyst stabbed a bright violet beam, sweeping out over the Mere. The pale mist began swirling and writhing... the enchanted curtain began to slowly part, as The Great Crystal Castle began to appear before the eye.

How then? You may ask; had this thing come to passing? How did Eldamar know of the maid's plight? Eldamar saw most things, but this, he knew not of. The Suhai had beset his sight with the clouding of Darkling spellbind. A young Algethi Huntress, hard-riding a young Unicorn Mare; brought news, but two moons since past, to the Halls of Eldamar far into the west. She spoke of the Suhai; she spoke of the Princess, the Unicorns - all that had come to passing, and of the evil that crept about in that place. The Lord Guardian Eldamar swiftly summoned his sons; for the fate of Amriath held now stood, as if upon the edge of a knife blade. For if the Suhai should enslave the Unicorns; unbalanced magic would lay waste to the Realms and Kingdoms.

The brothers had sped swiftly with the young Algethi Huntress all down through the Shining Land, that very night. Two mighty white stallions, in company with the slender young Unicorn mare, reached the Cornflower-Blue Mere by the pale, early light of dawn. The Huntress and Tristan made to search the soft golden meadows in hope that the Unicorns were yet, still there. Marcus had progressed to the Cornflower-Blue Mere to smite down the black enchantment.

As the mist vanished, with the causeway in plain sight; a pair of gryphons flew down from the keep and padded out onto the causeway to watch him as he walked cautiously towards them, prepared for their leaping. As he drew near to them, they called him a welcome; a soft, purring croak... a most curious sound; and sidled up to him brushing around his legs, as a cat will to its master. Taken off-guard by this greeting, he scarcely heard the whine of the black arrow's flight from out of the greening. The Suhai shaft took him full in the back with its vicious, sharp bite, casting him down to his knees on the causeway. He reached for Farahuine to defend himself. But sword against bow-shot could never be an advantage, and he fell forward... was this then, to be his end?

The gryphons rose screaming, and sped to the greening. The Suhai archer ran, and was torn limb from limb. Marcus lay upon the sandy causeway; the soft darkness beckoning him into its arms. Suddenly, there came the thunder of hooves upon the causeway. A young, Unicorn mare swiftly swept into sight. The same mare, Selenshea... who had carried the warning; the same mare, Selenshea... who knew what she needs must do. She knelt next to Marcus, and nuzzled his face. She tossed down her mane so that he might grasp it, and when he was prepared, she gently rose up, and supporting him all along the causeway; made progress to The Great Crystal Castle.

She led him down through the shimmering hallways into the luminous, lustrous Great Hall. There, with her head still propped upon her hand, the Princess sat upon her Opaline Throne. Her deeping, wistful thoughts were disturbed as she heard the soft call of Selenshea, who told her of what had now come to pass; and of Marcus; still bearing the arrow. The Princess and Selenshea swiftly carried him to a chamber, to draw out the arrow and salve his wound.

Out in the golden meadows, Tristan sensed danger... the bonding that twins have; the bonding they hold, each to the other; this unexplained mystery that others decry, but to them... very real. He mounted his horse, and he sped down through the greening to the Mere. He rode like the wild wind, and as he burst out from the edge of the forest... before him, he spied what he knew he would find. The Suhai Overlord had gathered a mighty host about him. Chanting, they circled the Mere. The Great Crystal Castle shone clear in the Sunlight. The black spell was smitten down, with the mist swiftly un-wreathing and fading away. There, on the causeway, the gryphons stood ready, with their coats bristling and their tails lashing. Their ruby eyes glittered with joy at the promise of Suhai slaughter... this thing, they do best.

Tristan swiftly unsheathed Dagnorath from her scabbard with a sweet, ringing "Schlooong." She hissed aloft... The Bane of Black Terror, topaz sparkling; impatient to offer the Darklings her deadly kiss. Tristan rode down on the Suhai host with Dagnorath dancing her deadly quadrille. He scythed a pathway all down to the Mere, whilst the gryphons leapt in on the flank to slaughter and scatter Suhai across the green pastures and golden meadows, which were rapidly staining with Suhai blood that ran black to the edge of the Mere. But there were too many; and 'though they fell back in terror... Tristan's advantage of surprise was swiftly fading.

Marcus, now raised from his bed by the healing salves of the Algethi Princess; saw Tristan's mayhems from the bedchamber window, and called for his sword, Farahuine; intent on the joining of battle. Instead, the Princess brought forth "Atarlates"... a great, spiral Unicorn horn, banded in gold... a relic from ages far distant and past. Atarlates... revered by the Algethi folk, dread feared by all Darklings. Atarlates... the horn of the first Unicorn... Silatar; Sire of the Unicorn Realm of Amriath. This unbroken line was now threatened by The Darkness and by Suhai avarice. This could well be the last chance for good yet to prevail.

Marcus, though weakened, took up Atarlates, and supported by the Princess, blew the horn mightily. The note, clear and soaring, like ice crystals tinkling; swept out... echoing through the forest reaches. The Suhai host heard the call of Atarlates, and they trembled. For far out in the forest; at first, softly... came a sound like the distant rumbling of summer thunder that slowly swelled louder until the ground was crashing and shaking about them. Then, from out of edge of the forest tree line, a white wave came bursting, with the sun on their horns glittering deadly, and bright.

The Unicorn Legions of Amriath thundered down upon the Darklings to their wild terror. The wave of Unicorns burst upon them, with goring and stabbing, and trampling and stamping them into the ground... tossing the Suhai high into the summer sky, and piercing them through with their horns as they tumbled back down. As the ranks broke; Tristan spied the Suhai Overlord who stood in a circle of ten Suhai Hearth-carls, each armed with a Tarak-wrought, spiked blade... the great Kelek-Bersker. They spied him too late. So, Dagnorath went a'dancing once more with her Suhai suitors. How soon then, she tired them... how soon then, she mired them; shredded all reekingly, scattered about the meadows.

The Suhai Overlord now stood unprotected. His grim Kelek-Bersker hung down by his side. As Tristan took measure, the Suhai swiftly raised his Kelek-Bersker and struck... taking all Tristan's skill to turn the blow aside. And so, they fell to the clashing of steel and the sparking of blade upon blade; the whistling sweep of blade cutting air, and the scraping of the parry... for Tristan had a promise to keep.

When Marcus and Tristan were no more than younglings; one day, Eldamar sat them in his Hall; and with his wise, violet eyes softly misting with tear-drops, he told the two boys how their mother had died. He said their grandfather was High-Algethi, who wedded a beautiful maid... Chelaine. Yet... the High-Algethi magic remained with the dynasty. Eldamar, in his turn; wedded a fair and graceful High-Algethi maiden whose name was Mirien Goldenwand. She was the most beautiful maid in the Shining Land... a more precious jewel he could not hope to find. Her hair fell in long, golden tresses to her waist, and strange for an Algethi Maid; her eyes were a perfect topaz-blue. She bore the twin boys, and they too, were High-Algethi.

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One morning, Mirien was deep in the forest gathering precious and rare Alfirin blossoms. Their tiny golden flowers were infused with an efficacious compound the Algethi used for healing. While she was gathering them, her sharp Algethi instincts warned her of a shadowing. Birds were not singing; some danger was close by... but, she never smelled the black reek of Suhai befouling the woodland air. For they cloaked their stench with some Darkling spellbinding... and suddenly, eight of them appeared, as if out of thin air; and stood gloating, as they surrounded fair Mirien. Their eyes gleamed yellow with triumph. They had trapped her like a Fawn, with nowhere she might flee.

Mirien knew well, the Suhai purpose... the Abduction Cadre, feared by all Algethi maids. Throughout Amriath, the dark rumours whispered the fate of the Algethi maids who simply disappeared, never to be seen again. The Suhai Race had, for countless summers, interbred. Now, their blood line stood polluted beyond magic cure. They imagined that the forced interbreeding of those abducted Algethi maidens would fortify and strengthen their blood line once more. The maids were enslaved in the breeding caverns deep underground, with no other purpose for them to be there. Never again, would they taste clean, sweet, fresh air... never again, would they see sunlight in the woodland glades.

Mirien stood proud and straight; her topaz eyes flashing. The Suhai leader stepped a pace forward, snatching her roughly by her soft, milky shoulders... breathing his foul breath full into her face as he gloated and drooled at the thought of her trapped in the breeding caverns with him. So lost was he in his visioning, he did not notice her slender hand softly slip down to her side. 'Nor did he see her hand circle the hilt of the slender dagger she wore... the Algethi blade called Moonwinnow; slim as a bodkin, and sharper by far, than the sting of a bee. Knowing her fate was now hers for the choosing; she swiftly chose that she would die in the sunlight. She whispered "Eldamar," then spun about, clasping Moonwinnow, and raked the blade-tip all up his face, piercing his left eye. The Suhai lurched back in pain and surprise. His great Kelek-Bersker swung hard at her head. The evil spike at the blade-head pierced her temple. Mirien was dead before the grass kissed her soft cheek.

As she lay there, the malevolent evil befouling the Suhai Race was laid to plain view. Should an Algethi perish before the time that they are given has come to passing; they hold no fear or doubt. Their Grace... perhaps, spirit, floats out as a pale, shining Golden Orb. This orb, the Algethi call "Charas." In the Algethi tongue, "Charas" means "Divine Radiance"... the pure power of goodness, ever eternal; that melds with all living things in the forest, all things in the air, and the cool, crystal Meres. The sum of this oneness is called "Carmanthyr"... The Tranquil Island. Or so, then, it should have been for Mirien Goldenwand; but the Suhai did what all Algethi dread.

As her Charas softly rose from her paling lips, it was snatched down by the Suhai Leader. Evilly grinning, he forced it down into a small crystal phial, which he hung about his warty neck like some brave trophy, upon a chain braided from her golden hair. He cackled; savouring his cunning quick-wittedness. This was a talisman, close beyond compare... 'aye… sweet indeed. Mirien Goldenwand was trapped in her crystal cage. She would now never hearken to Sathulinan... the Song of the Holy Ones, as she ascended; and softly, the Golden Orb began to fade.

Eldamar had searched through the Shining Land from the grey, flinty mountains to the far Western Ocean... all through Amriath... even out to the Ice mountains of Old Shandalar; with no trace of Mirien ever to be found.

As Tristan stood facing the Suhai Overlord; the memory flamed bright, from his youngling days. With fresh eyes, he studied the vermin before him. He saw the great scar, the eye patch... and about the warty neck, a small crystal phial upon a braided golden chain that faintly shone out with a pale, golden light. The topaz flared bright blue in Dagnorath's pommel, and Tristan saw it, and Tristan now knew. As did the Suhai Overlord, who watched, with his lone yellow eye holding something like dread. He knew without doubt, that about him, the Circle of Amriath had turned, and turned once again, and the stark spectre of his doom now looked him fully in the face.

Dagnorath glittered and whistled about him. Tristan fought now, as he scarcely could believe... or rather; Dagnorath now guided his arm as he shredded the Suhai from jerkin collar to boot hose. The great Kelek-Bersker, swung wildly by the Suhai, suddenly shattered under Dagnorath's bite... and Tristan struck. With one last sweeping cut, the Suhai's chest burst open, spraying forth blood, black as the blackest of nights. Above the Suhai's shriek in that last cutting, came a clear, brittle tinkle. A pale, Golden Orb rose soft, and shining... the Charas of Mirien Goldenwand, freed at last; and on the wind, Tristan thought he could hear something like music. Was it Sathulinan... the Song of the Holy Ones, calling her home? The Unicorns gathered; the gryphons ceased their slaughter, and all watched the orb rise, until it passed far beyond their sight.

Tristan bent over the Suhai carcass, reaching down to tear off a scrap of its clothing, so he might cleanse the foul, black slime from the blade of Dagnorath... when suddenly, he spied a faint glittering. Scarcely daring to hope the unthinkable hoping; he slowly reached down to the vermin lying before him, and... to his hand came a small, slender dagger, sharper by far than a bee-sting... Moonwinnow; his Mother's slim Algethi blade; the very last thing she had touched as she perished, and now safe in his palm, as his eyes filled with tears. How long they had searched, and how far they had scoured for this little dagger... so many long leagues, and for countless moons. Moonwinnow... blood-red with rusting from the misusing of her by the Darklings; Moonwinnow... lost for so long from The Shining Land. The little Star Sapphire set in her hilt, now so dulled by the grasping of Suhai fingers.

Brushing a tear, Tristan gazed upon Moonwinnow. A hand laid upon his shoulder made him turn about. The young Algethi huntress stood there, looking down as she stroked Selenshea's mane. Into Tristan's heart, she gazed deep; smiling gently; her eyes full of compassion... perhaps, something more. A smile of sort that a mother makes to her infant... caring and comforting, soft and warm. A smile that holds all things to each it is given; a smile to bring warmth to the chill deep within.

Tristan gazed at her, as if, for the first time. There had, indeed been scant time to take stock of her on their wild, desperate ride. Her eyes were Emerald-blue... like the throat of a pheasant. Her skin was pale tawny... like the wing of a Mistle thrush. Her War-braided hair shone a deep Russet-gold; like a young vixen's coat on the first day of spring.

She gently reached down, and took hold of Moonwinnow; holding her aloft in the clear summer air. And, deep in the heart of the little Star Sapphire; slowly, a tiny spark began to glow... and, as the glow brightened; the rust began flaking from off the blade. A rain of blood-red corruption showered down, drifting out over the green, verdant meadow; and every grass it touched, wilted; all brown and shrivelled. She spoke in an Algethi tongue, not unfamiliar. Tristan thought, perhaps, t'was Aure'Algethi... yet, how could this be true? A young, Algethi huntress who spoke this High-Algethi tongue perfectly? She said that the slender Moonwinnow was "Inya"... a feminine blade, unresponsive to men. It had been last held by a female, and was now held once more, by a female. He saw how the Star Sapphire sparkled. He saw how Moonwinnow shone like finest Leissor in her slender hand. Was she the one for whom, he had long waited? What was she thinking? Before he could ask, she turned to him; a gentle, soft smile upon her lips. She had indeed, looked deep into his heart. The Circle of Amriath had turned, and had cast them together; and no more, would they be parted.

She was, by name: Talith. She was the daughter of Landamar, Lore-keeper General of Old Eldanore. She made as if to hand Moonwinnow to him. He spoke in the High-Algethi Tongue, softly:

'N'umau; Kwa-ra sina Ten'amin'... 'No; you keep it for me.'

She smiled gently. Here was a covenant sealed. He took her hand and they left this place, walking down through the golden meadows to pause at the edge of The Cornflower-Blue Mere, and gaze upon the Great Crystal Castle. The gryphons still carefully watched the fields, but none living were there. Tristan and Talith progressed the causeway to the Great Crystal Gate, where The Princess and Marcus joyfully welcomed them. The Black Shadow was lifted. The Unicorns were safe. There was laughing and dancing, far into the night.

On the morrow, they arose to a beautiful morning. The Castle lay, all shimmering in the bright summer sun. The Cornflower-Blue Mere sparkled, calm, and serene. The green fields and golden meadows showed no trace of that terrible slaughter. The gryphons had been out at night, clearing carcasses and flying them off to cast them into the Middens of Fuin far out to the North. Marcus and Tristan went down into the undercroft to tend their swords and wash the last traces of Darkling gore from the blades. They talked of the Princess, they talked of the Huntress... of things that had passed, and of things that might yet, come to pass. A soft voice spoke behind them in the High-Algethi tongue:

'Lle tela?'... 'Are you finished?'

They turned; and the huntress stood there, smiling. She studied Dagnorath, she wielded Farahuine. Such beautiful swords of The Light. She asked if the brothers knew of the real purpose of those great gems set in the pommels. When they confessed Eldamar had not told them... t'was some secret between him, and his Forge-master; she smiled, and replied that all Algethi folk knew... she had not thought these Guardians of The Light, quite so dim. They could not find it within themselves to take any rancour when faced with her beautiful smile. Curious now, for the truth of the telling; the brothers elected to hear her lay the Tell.

She told of a story her father had read to her, out of the ancient Scrolls of Vardabeik concerning "The ldyll of Calamar"... Algethi Lord of Eldanore; Sire of Eldamar, and Lord Guardian of The Light.

The Lord Calamar; called by some, Hammer of Astalan; Slayer of Darklings, Destroyer of Taraks. The Lord Calamar; who was revered in remembrance throughout the Realms and Kingdoms of Amriath for his Great endeavours 'gainst The Darkness. He rode a great white horse; a Shire-Algethi crossling that stood a full twenty hand-spans from shoe to withers, and was shod with shoes of pure Leissor from the Thuvian mines of Khallis, far beyond The Lost Kingdom of Lorenfalu. Strapped to the flank of his mount was a great scabbard of black Adamaunte, fully four cubits in reach. The scabbard was richly blazoned with Charybon Runic devices... the tongue of The Shining Ones, now long since lost in the misting of Ages, past.

The Nightmare of Darklings slept in that long scabbard; no matter how black was their courage, or how foul were their deeds. Here, slept a fearsome, and mighty two-handed sword. This then, was "Shadowcleaver"... "The Shredder of Taraks." When Calamar showed her the light, her cold, glittering smile froze the blood of those she would embrace. For one stroke could split a Darkling from temple to toe, if such a Darkling was foolish enough to face The Lord Calamar in open combat. Many were the Darklings who fell to The Lord Calamar down through the long, drifting summers. Many were the times Shadowcleaver sang like the wild, storming winds off the Plain of Malphaers.

Calamar… Hammer of Astalan; Algethi Lord of Eldanore, Lord Guardian of The Light; many, were his Quests of which the Minstrels sang. Many were the bold tales that mothers spun to their younglings as they turned to sleeping at the end of the day. But, the one Quest that raised Calamar to Legend was spun around the Broachment of the Cradle of Huin... a shining page scribed in the Algethi Chronicles; to be told around the hearth fires until the ending of the World.

Deep in the Ice mountains there lay a dark cavern, where a terrible pestilence lurked in the gloom. Called "Vakhal'huin"; it possessed the head of a carrion bird and the body of a winged serpent. It came from out of the depths of The Caverns of Tanildor; once home of the dreadful Olistalix, destroyed in Antiquity by The Great White Wizard. But the Vakhal'huin as yet remained, still roaming The Ice Realm on great, leathern wings. It would kill all manner of creatures misfortunate enough to encounter it as it ranged the land in seek of prey. Many had tried to destroy the foul creatures, and failed... and in the failing, so many lay dead. Not for them, glory and wealth beyond measure as their bleaching bones lay all strewn and tumbled down the bleak mountainside.

For there was terrible secret about that dark cavern, long since called The Cradle of Huin. There would always be a fully grown Vakhal'huin Guardian lurking in the gloom of the cavern watching over a clutch of pale, jade-coloured eggs with shells harder than Leissor, laying about the floor of the cavern. There was faint hope of ever prevailing by using a common sword stroke to cleave them asunder and living to tell of the tale. For, those jade eggs had no need of the brooding... they needed no covering warmth as they silently slept. This freed the Vakhal'huin Guardian on occasion... when no threat stood manifest, to pillage the Realms; albeit, for the greater span of time, it remained lurking in the darkness of the cavern as it stood watch over the eggs.

Though t'was but small hardship to despatch a Vakhal'huin... flushed with triumph, the guileless, unwary, or simple foolhardy all became fey, and made the same blunder for which they would pay the ultimate price. At the moment of destruction of a Vakhal'huin; one egg softly glowed, and then, suddenly... a sunderous cracking echoed the cavern, and out sprang a Vakhal'huin Youngling, more dangerous yet. For in simple truth; though it yet lacked the size and the skill, and the cunning of one of its elder kin; it was so fearsomely swift, and was possessed of a strength far beyond the imagining. It could hoist fully-grown men from off their feet. In the span of a heartbeat, the Vakhal'huin had bested them... there was no chance to defend themselves, 'nor to even turn about to face the creature. Then, one more quest for glory and wealth beyond measure would be ended, with their bones strewn and tumbled about the cold ground.

Calamar though, had the guile and the cunning as noiselessly, he clambered up the bleak mountain with the Great Shadowcleaver strapped firmly across his back, and audaciousness making free with his mind. Poised, just without the cavern's dark maw, he softly drew the mighty sword... steadied his grip about her deep hilt, and then silently as a fox stalking a rabbit, crept into the darkness... into The Cradle of Huin. The Vakhal'huin Guardian turned swiftly, with a venomous hiss. Calamar swung Shadowcleaver aloft. He knew he had, but one chance to strike sure and the stroke dare not go astray. The sword blade swept down through the neck of the Vakhal'huin, and in an instant, a jade egg started to glow. The blade swept on down, shattering the glowing egg… Guardian and Hatchling, both with the one stroke!

Calamar leaned on the great Shadowcleaver; drawing his breath, and swiftly glancing about the floor of the cavern. None of the other jade eggs were glowing. So, t'was, but one for one then; and no more the doubting. Rested, Calamar began the broaching... cleaving asunder each egg, one after the other. The great Shadowcleaver sliced through the hard shells like a dagger through whey until the cave was running with the grim, slimy yolks; and now, the Vakhal'huin would never again, bring destruction and fear.

His quest completed, Calamar came down from off the icy, bleak mountain. But waiting below were a group of soldiers and a richly garbed Equerry with gold chain of Office and glittering Seal. They had been sent to bring him swiftly to The Snow Queen to tell of his quest and to reveal all things of this endeavour.

Calamar stood before Her. She was beautiful; in receipt perhaps,of twenty-and-five summers, with pale blonde hair; slender of form, and fulsomely womanly. She put to him the question... what wondrous reward did he seek for this thing? His answer was swift. He sought no compensation. He was no hireling for gainful quest. She made free, a fleeting smile at his reproaching. Brave, was this Calamar; spirited too. She ordered two servants to bring forth a great, oaken chest, and they sped to do her bidding. From out of the Chest she lifted a casket girdled about with great, gleaming bronze bands. The casket was fashioned of fragrant, and rare sandalwood from far beyond the Western Ocean. She lifted the lid and Calamar saw it contained a glittering wealth beyond measure. It could be nothing less than the long-fabled Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor. The Casket brimmed with Rubies and Sapphires, and Emeralds and Diamonds... more wealth in yon casket, than the sum of the Eldanore Treasury. Perhaps, even more than the sum of the Treasuries of all the Kingdoms and Realms that stood to The Light... here, within this casket she now held to Calamar's view.

The Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor. This was the stuff of which dreams are made, deep in the hearts of the bold. Laurelindor... the young, beautiful Brigand Queen, plundered the old Thuvian trade-roads for gold and jewels, far back in the mistings of Ages forgotten and long lost from remembrance. The telling of her tale was embroidered and fattened with beer from countless dark nights gathered around the warm hearth-fires. Thus, little by little; the truth faded until all that was left was 'naught, but Fable and Legend, far down the long summers. T'was no more than a dream in the night. Now, Calamar gazed upon them in wonder. The Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor gleamed and shimmered before him. The Snow Queen cupped her hands down into the casket, and drew them out, bearing forth a glittering mound; entreating Calamar to take what he wished. It was, but a thin price for the work of his sword.

Calamar declined. He needed no jewels, for he was a Guardian, and he was fully content. The Snow Queen insisted that, should he refuse such reward, then he must choose some keepsake to mark this brave quest. Calamar, seeing that he was now bested; reached into her cupped hands and drew out two stones. The first was an Amethyst of deep, Imperial purple; and the second, a Topaz that shone a clear, summer-sky blue. The Snow Queen asked of Calamar his choice of these jewels; each of such slim worth compared with the rest. He said that his infant son's eyes were deep violet, and he loved best... his son's mother's eyes which were Northern Star blue.

She was content with such lyrical answering, and She commanded a feast be raised that very night. Then, there was much merriment, and much rejoicing in The Ice Palace. The future stood bright and safe, once more.

'And, what of the stones?'

A soft voice asked from behind them.

The Princess stood, listening to the story told by Talith, from out of The Great Scrolls of Vardabeik, as told to her by her father... this ancient tale. Talith smiled, softly, and made respond in the High Algethi tongue:

'Feithseerea, Arwenamin'... 'Have patience, My Lady.'

The tale had not run to its ending.

Once more, Talith took up with the Tell; while the Sword-stones softly sparkled in the warm morning sunlight streaming in through the undercroft casement... as it did on the morrow, as Calamar awoke from his slumber. He roused, befuddled, from sleeping the sleep of five flagons of Glow-fire in a great bed of fine, carved oak in an opulent chamber, fit for a Queen. And there... She lay, next to him in that great oaken bed. She languidly opened her eyes and gazed at him, then, nestled close to him; her head upon his shoulder, and a contented secret smile, soft upon her lips. He had not the wit to know what he might say. He had no remembrance of how he came there, 'nor of what might have passed in the soft of the night. The Glow-fire had washed clean away all trace of the remembering. Had it been luscious delight... or 'naught but drunken, deep snoring?

This then, was the measure of what was written concerning The Broachment of The Cradle of Huin. The Princess stepped forth with the hint of a smile playing about her soft lips, and said, nay... there was yet more to this tale. The Snow Queen in question, Serissea of Galeth... was her grandmother, who bore a girl child. In the Algethi tongue, such a child was called "Melahin Saesakarne," meaning, "A Love child conceived in a passion, so wild." And, this child... was her mother, The Great Warrior Ice Queen, Cirion, who had held back the marauding Suhai hosts in the High Pass of Ling. The Princess's father was a Captain in Cirion's bodyguard and never returned from the bitter fighting, that dreadful day.

When the Princess was little more than a youngling of some five summers, Cirion told her of all that she knew. She recounted the tales of Serissea and Calamar; of the two shining stones; of Eldamar the Guardian, and of Mirien Goldenwand. She told of what became of the amethyst and topaz, matching the eyes of Eldamar and Mirien. Then, the Princess laid forth the reasoning why she was so named; and this then, was her greatest surprise. She sat before them and began the tell of her naming, to honour an Algethi long since passed. She was named in honour of her grandfather's true love; nuptial-bound to him, and bearing the same name that she bore. With a quiet smile she told them...

'T'is Chelaine,'

She said softly,

'And, so... we are quarter-kin; you and I.'

A silence so thick, as to be clove with a blade fell upon the undercroft.

'Three Dynasties, Royal...'

'Not I,'

Whispered Talith; softly aside, and in truth, a little disheartened. Chelaine looked at her, and asked her then, was she not Talith? Quaine Landamar's Daughter?... Landamar, The Lore-keeper General of Old Eldanore... and was not her natural tongue Aure'Algethi? When Talith made reply that all these things were so... the words of Chelaine were indeed, truly spoken; the Princess lay astonishment upon them all with what she next revealed. Landamar; Lore-keeper General of Old Eldanore, was Heir to The Lost Kingdom of Lorenfalu.

Lorenfalu was a Kingdom of Knowledge... of Artists, Philosophers; of Scribes and Scholars. It had no Army; it had not the need for one. It knew nothing of war, 'nor of pillaging tribes, until came the day that the Suhai struck, and the bright hope that was Lorenfalu was swiftly torn down into the Darkness. Few would escape, and fewer indeed, would live to see the dawning of a new day. But Landamar made his escape into the west, bearing his daughter Talith in his arms. He travelled by daylight, avoiding the watchers, and spending the nights in the caves, the barns and the bothies. He was resolved that this child would prevail in The Light; fully safe from The Darklings, no matter the cost. The journey was hard, and the danger was ever present, but... there was nothing else... all else was now lost.

When the Suhai struck, Landamar was deep in the Delvlings where the Moonflowers grew, with Talith; gathering a posy of blossoms as a gift to her mother. The first that he knew of the attack, was a galloping rider sent forth to seek him out... to warn him to flee. The Suhai hosts had laid waste The Palace of Rhom, and all found therein were mercilessly killed. Landamar's father, King Eilar the Wise, and the whole Royal Family were slaughtered. The City had lain, as a bride upon her Wedding Eve... innocent, guileless, in the softly lowering sun. She lay defenceless and trusting; believing in goodness, as she, by the sunset, was softly beguiled. Here, was no thought of screaming Darklings, Kelek-Berskers flashing; wiping out Faluans, even to the last infant.

Landamar made to pull down the rider, to leap upon his horse, and gallop to Rhom. Then he saw Talith; scarcely four summers to her... the posy of blossoms; and knew this was wrong. Foolish and wrong. Her mother was killed. There was nothing to gain... and to stay would only mean death by a Kelek-Bersker, or worse... her being groomed for the dreadful breeding caverns... something, he would not let happen to his daughter.

At length, Landamar and his daughter reached Old Eldanore, and were made welcome. Landamar prospered as the summers drifted. Lorenfalu no longer existed; and as far as was known, scarce a handful of Faluans survived besides Landamar and his daughter Talith. But they kept their counsel, with no word of their past. They were the last heirs to the Throne of Lorenfalu... if it still existed. But, who was to say what remained of that blighted Kingdom?

Talith stood silent. Her Emerald eyes were wide with wonderment. Could this thing then, be the truth? Could the young, Algethi Huntress from out of Old Eldanore, truly be Princess of Lorenfalu? Chelaine told her there could be no more doubt. Chelaine had espied the slim Torc that Talith wore around her smooth throat. This was proof-positive; for on the Torc was fashioned... the likeness of the Kerim of Arialthor.

The Kerim of Arialthor was a signet image of a tiny, and two-headed snake twined around the slim stem of an Alfirin flower... the gold flower of healing. This flower was known to all Algethi-kind, and ever revered by them. The Kerim of Arialthor was, but a riddle; of how gentle, soft healing overthrew all ills. Thus, it was used on The Great Royal Seal of Rhom Cypher in the soft, healing Kingdom of Lorenfalu. The Great Royal Seal proclaimed the Kingship of Eilar the Wise and all of his Kin. This emblem was forbidden, on pain of banishment, to be flaunted by any not of His House.

This Torc had been a gift from Landamar to his daughter when she, at length, reached womanhood, and left Old Eldanore in her seventeenth summer, as "Kalhkari Shalafial" of the deep greening forests that lay about Amriath. Talith... the young Kalhkari Shalafial... The Mistress of all Unicorns; who tended the foalings, and healed the lamings, and hunted down Darklings who would seek to entrap them... for their horns were much prized for use in Darkling spell-binding.

Before the two Princesses; Tristan and Marcus, as manner befitting to them; then, bent the knee. Both brothers were soundly chided. Were they all, not equals here? The brothers surrendered most relievedly to the Princesses' will. But, what of the swords, and the stones set in their pommels? What then, of the telling that Eldamar refused to reveal? Chelaine smiled; there was no secret. T'was simply that the Forge-Master had begged Eldamar not to reveal to the boys that the two swords... Dagnorath and Farahuine, had both been wrought from a Legend. The Forge-Master feared that if the boys knew that their swords had been born out of the metal of The Great Shadowcleaver... The Nightmare of Darklings... the mighty, two-handed sword of The Lord Calamar; they might become careless and fey.

How strange then, that the Circle of Amriath; with turn, and turn about, had brought all of them together from such distances... as if this thing had been written far back in the Ancient of Days. Chelaine said there was, but one thing as yet, undone: "Cilme vell Kiira" … "Choosing The Gems"… in the true Algethi way.

She led them all up through the shimmering hallways, into the luminous, lustrous Great Hall, and, at The Opaline Throne, she knelt, and pressed a secret latch. A panel slipped back, revealing a casket girdled about with great, gleaming bronze bands. It was the fabled Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor, brought forth out of the Court of Serissea for safe-keeping, on the command of Queen Cirion, her daughter; when the shadows began to creep about the Eastern Realms.

Chelaine gently lifted the lid of the casket and spread out the Jewels upon the Hall floor. She said they should do now, what Calamar did in her grandmother's Palace those long summers ago: The "Cilme vell Kiira"... Choosing the Gems. And the Circle of Amriath began to turn slowly, once again.

When the young Eldamar discovered the Stones... the Amethyst, and then, the Topaz; he had his Forge-Master set them in the pommels of two freshly-wrought swords, lying all shiny and new upon the forge bench. One of these swords was destined for each of his sons. He thought how the Topaz so matched the eyes of his Mirien; and mused that the Amethyst... in certain light, mirrored his violet eyes, now and again. This then, was "Cilme vell Kiira"... or Choosing the Gems; with each choose matching the hue of eye of the chooser... as had Calamar, and Eldamar so done, in times now distantly past. The Circle of Amriath had turned softly, and now, it was their time.

Talith chose first. She selected a blue-tinged Emerald that shimmered as like the throat of a pheasant on a bright, summer day. Marcus chose a soft, blue-grey Aquamarine... the hue of the first winter storm on the Cold Northern Sea. Tristan chose a Sapphire; honest and blue... like a high summer day with no promise of rain. Lastly, Chelaine chose a gentle, summer-sky blue Agate that perfectly matched her eyes.

'Now this thing is done,'

Said Chelaine;

'Each one of these gemstones is destined to be pommelled in swords to be held by our sons. In the fullness of time, they too, shall become Guardians; defending The Light from the Shadowy ones.'