Chapter Seven.
A Ponder on Dragons.
Meantime; far to the north, Eldamar rode out from the farmstead hard by the Great Moat-Tower of Ghlinngar in distant Yeranoor, and with him rode Gwythlyn, his new-found Granddaughter. She was content to leave this remote place. Indeed, there was no cause for her now to stay. As they rode out through the small stand of Wychwithy trees, she cast no backwards gaze. They rode on a cart laden with the booty of the precious barrels of Alfirin Tincture and the legacy gifted by Ghlinngar the Seer... the three-volumed Tarsius of Yeranoor. Safe, in the charge of Eldamar, here lay the sum of knowledge of all the Seers far back to the bright dawn of Amriath... the first shining morn of The First Age of The Light.
Burdened as they were with the cart; Eldamar knew full well, the high pass across Camas Mhor was closed to them. They need strike southwards, and follow the frontier of Old Eldanore all down through the Yeranoor Woldings. Then, they would continue to the flooding plains of the great River Claidell, striking the ford at the edge of the northerly reaches of Lankriggen Forest. Here, they were close to the Wastes of Plenmellar where Darklings were known to lurk; ever probing the borders of Old Eldanore, Shandalar; Khallis, and all the Kingdoms and Realms that bounded the outermost reaches of Amriath. Here, would be the danger, were it to stand forth.
He thought to bid Gwythlyn ride out Starshadow away from this place, out to the north-east; crossing through the shoulders of Camas Mhor by the high pathway, then down through the high upland plains; skirting far to westwards again, through the Riggs of Grey Prestor. This would gainsay a ride through the blighted Corries of Thar. For, once past the Riggs of Grey Prestor; on down into the south, Shandalar's plains spread wide; and here patrolled bands of Cirion's Faluan Guard, ever watchful for sight or smell of Darklings. Thus, she could then be escorted safely to the Great Citadel, and make entreatment to Cirion for a detachment of Guard to repair to the ford, north of Lankriggen Forest to meet with Eldamar.
They could then give him escort; skirting the forest, along the Algethi Trail to the Ragnor Redoubt... the old Darkling Stronghold laid to waste in the Suhai Wars. Then, they could progress swiftly onwards, out into the eerie Scourings of Ragnor. Here lay the four great burial pits where ten thousand Darklings lay mouldering ... the Black harvest reaped in the Suhai War. T'was then but, a League until they broached the Western plain, and here, the Citadel could plainly be seen. But, that was not now... that were fully three moons away; and, in concernment for Gwythlyn, he knew that with both paths, the odds were fully even for chancing the meeting of Darklings a'lurking abroad. Perhaps, he should cast aside as foolish notion, this thinking; for safety lay here in his sword.
Gwythlyn smiled softly; for she had looked into his heart for a while, as all Algethi Maidens can. She had watched his concernment stand plain in his face as he pondered which were the soundest plan. Then, she spoke:
'Grandfather, beset yourself not with concernment; for here, stands a wondrous surprise.'
She delved into the cart, and drew out a wrapping of cloth; and before his wondering eyes, brought forth a Great Sword pommelled with Faience and Sapphires. He knew it at once, for it was a legend. This was Ghlinngar the Seer's Great Sword that carried the naming... "Gurthelkaa." It was renowned from the furthest lost days, when Ghlinngar was not yet a Seer; but more, was a Wraith-Hunter all down through the wild wooded lands that one day would be Shining Amriath, long before the Questors came from out of Astalan.
Gwythlyn lay tell to her Grandfather that Ghlinngar had schooled her in wielding this blade, also called "Icing Death." It had been forged in the grey, flinty mountains, and many were the Wraiths that it had slain She insisted that she should ride for Shandalar, and that he should not fret about her safety. She would bode well in her ride with Starshadow, for they had communed; and he had said that all was well.
Eldamar had not thought... 'nor his place to ask; but there were no farms or homesteads anywhere close to the Moat-Tower of Ghlinngar, or to the small farmstead where Gwythlyn had lived alone. In this, there would not be any suitors or lovers. He thought himself fool... she was still maid full-found; so she, and Starshadow could commune together, and on such a ride, this was a most singular advantage.
As she made ready to ride out to easterly north, with great Gurthelkaa strapped soundly to her side; Eldamar bid her, then... whence past Camas Mhor, she should keep watch above in her southwardly ride. Eldamar said he would endeavour to arrange for her, a safe escort; and if he prevailed, she would most certainly know of this thing. She smiled, and admonished him softly for this conundrum; then wheeled Starshadow about, to make her ride.
As she rode away, he reached for the volumes of The Tarsius of Yeranoor and opened the first of the three great, thick leathern-bound volumes, seeking some charm with which he could invoke some protection to her. There! T'was a binding spell from times, long since forgotten far back in The First Age of The Light. He read the spell with great care. T'was scribed in Charybon Runic... not hard to misread, even with no mis-write. In readiness, he stood forth, facing northwards, and intoned the Charybon Rune Binding spell in a great voice which swelled towards Storien-Rhudd, the Dragon Eyrie of Eldanore.
As the echoes softly died against the towering buttress of High Camas Mhor, there came a sound to his ears. It was a faint, leathern flapping that came ever closer, and to any other, would strike dreadful fears into their very hearts. Over the mountain came a shining, silvery Dragon, gliding across the sky to where Eldamar stood. It landed before him, and sat, seemingly waiting. Eldamar then knew the spell-binding was good. But, how might he communicate, and make known his request? The Dragon gazed at him with Amber-red eyes; then bent towards him, and spoke in the Charybon tongue. This indeed, gave Eldamar much wonderment!
She was a young female, and curious then, she said; to see him... this Lord Guardian of The Light. The name of Eldamar was known even in Storien-Rhudd, though his need there was slight. She had been out on patrol when she beheld his intonement. As for the Binding spell… that were a nonsense. T'were more, a summons; telling of the need of The Light for the strength, and the guile of the Dragon... as it had indeed been, once before.
For back in the dawn of the First Age of The Light, all living creatures communed with the same tongue; but as they grew, and their pathways divided, suspicion crept and all harmony was lost. Dragons, perhaps, in demeanour and stature, were perceived as dangersome. As time slipped by, the knowing of the Charybon tongue slowly faded, and Dragons then, could not have the knowing of why they were so feared. So they repaired to the lonely, high wild places, there to remain, keeping their counsel until came the hour that The Light would stand need of the Dragons again.
She spoke with a soft hiss, yet plain and clear... much in the manner of a maid with a pretty lisp;
'And now, My Lord Guardian, tell me of your need.'
Eldamar told her of why he was here. He spoke of his plan for the safe ride of Gwythlyn. He feared there were Darklings abroad, and as he so spoke; the Dragon's demeanour changed in a heart-beat. Her eyes glittered redly and soft wisps of smoke curled from her nostrils, then...
'Darklings?' and then, again... 'Darklings?'
She hissed, in a frightening way.
'We squander our time. Why then, did you not tell me at the first that t'was Darkling business that stood upon us, this day?'
She spread her wings, and looked back at Eldamar...
'Fear not, my Lord Guardian; they shall not prevail. I shall fly sentinel to your Kith-maid, and I shall send to you, my Brood Sire to guard your passage into the south.'
Then flick with her tail, and she lifted into the blue skies, as graceful as any Cormorant may fly; and turning to easterly-north, she flew swiftly towards Camas Mhor and was lost from his sight.
Eldamar then moved on, all down and across the wide Yeranoor Woldings. Here, was no fear of Darklings. The Woldings were rolling and open, and the places were scanty for lurkment, hereabouts. He set his thoughts to the ride of young Gwythlyn, and hoped her apprehension would not discomfit her when she perceived a great Dragon quartering the blue sky above her, and having no knowing of this covenant sealed. But yet, it would soon dawn upon her that there was no peril manifest, and this was the score of what she had thought conundrum... not thinking Eldamar would weave such a charm.
And, so it was; as she rode swiftly to the south-east on Starshadow, The Riggs of Grey Prestor now came into view. These were a range of hills of small significance; wherein there were many small pools and folds in the ground... 'nigh perfect for entrapment. Eldamar had said, should good fortune ride with them, they should strike Shandalar before nightfall. Then, of a sudden, Starshadow stood firm from his gallop, and halted... the dust all billowing about. Turning, he stared hindwards towards Camas Mhor, and there! In the sky, and then... never the doubt. A smudge was moving swiftly round the shoulder of the mountain; darkening now as it drew closer.
There came a glint in the sun, as whatever it was, turned towards them, advancing so singularly swift, it could not possibly be outrun. Skirting the High, Upland plains and losing height, onwards it came. Gwythlyn saw, with no small fright, that it was a beautiful, silvery Dragon, with wings widely spread as it rushed towards her. And onwardly came, not above a score of cubits from the ground, for it raised dustings in its wake. She saw it change the stand of its wings as it lifted and passed over her, gazing at her; and then, it was beyond her. As she watched, t'was a subtly dipped wing, and the Dragon wheeled around a tightly-scribed circle. Then swiftly, it was returning, almost touching the ground.
The Dragon circled; soaring above her, ranging and quartering the sky. It turned again, and then glided to southwards, then turned once again; as if then, to make an entreatment for her to follow. Then, Gwythlyn realised... here plainly, stood Eldamar's hand. This then must be the protection her Grandfather had promised, to escort her safely into Shandalar.
So, she rode down towards the Riggs of Grey Prestor, with the Dragon standing sentinel high in the sky... casting about, both to left, and to right of the path Gwythlyn galloped; seeking and spying out any danger that perhaps, was lurking; and in the gallop, the Leagues slipped away. But, suddenly, the Dragon stood fully in the hover... as a Falcon will stand, 'ere it stoops upon its prey. Then, dropping a wing, it cast a great sweeping turn far out to the east, and then again, into the north. Infinitely slowly, it began to descend; gliding into the distance in such a manner to suggest to those who might be watching, that it was returning to its lair, having not spied them. They would think, with danger passing, they could remain lurking in concealment.
Gwythlyn watched, with her apprehension rising, as the Dragon grew smaller. For she too, had spied the sun twinkle on metal. Some indolent movement had betrayed them, whoever they were... and the odds were fully even, that hereabouts, they would be of Darkling breed. She reached down, and loosened the scabbard strap, ready to draw "Gurthelkaa," and then... softly, from behindwards, she heard a small sound… almost akin to the slap of a hand upon horse flank.
She turned in her saddle to see the Dragon, now scarcely ten cubits aloft, rushing towards her with wings beating. Cunningly it had turned in the north, three full leagues distantly behindwards, and out of sight; and now, was in full, charging flight, low in the sky. It rushed overhead, and the wind off its wings, now... in full flight, billowed the cloak about Gwythlyn, as swiftly, it accomplished the distance to the place the bright flash had laid the betrayal. Turning its neck, it bent its head, and placed a great, rolling blossom of yellow-red flaming about the place where the glint had been spied. There came a sound, clear above the whoosh and the roar of the flames, as some creature there, perished.
It was not a howl, and it was not a scream. It was more like the sound of a sword blade laid to a dry whetstone; more... a high, keening shriek; 'Aye, that was the sound made. A sound that gave Gwythlyn a cold shudder as she watched the plume of smoke roll foetidly into the sky where it tainted the blueness. She moved to the scorched place, timidly to see what it was that the Dragon had roasted; and there, about that place lay five bodies, fully charred. Scattered about, were the broad, Darkling Kelek-Bersker blades. So, t'was an ambush; but still, it was hard to cast from her mind some small pang of pity... though, had they succeeded in taking her, they would have shown her none.
She looked into the sky, as the Dragon flew over. It inclined its head to her, and then, it was gone... but not to the north. Instead, it turned to westward... to Lankriggen Forest, or perhaps, The Wastes of Plenmellar. For there was a terrible weakness besetting Dragons. Once they had killed; then, for naught more than sport they would harry prey... as a fox will in a hen-house, until all found there were slaughtered, and to westwards, were manifest Darklings to find. For, as has been previously foretold in The Tarsius; Dragons bore a malice for all Darkling kind, as unwavering as that of the gryphons. The cause of this was lost in the drift-mists of Ages. Eldamar knew this, and he thought to exploit it to wipe out The Mordbrood, and wipe clean the page.
As she stood, deep in her ponder; Gwythlyn was brought from her thinking by a pale, distant cry. Raising her eyes from the smouldering carnage, she spied a Frontier patrol riding up, fresh out of Shandalar; drawn to this place by the plume of dark smoke that hung foul and clearly visible even as far as The Citadel. The patrol was riding this way to probe the cause. In no lengthy span in passing she was surrounded by a dozen Faluan guards; their eyes hard, and wary. Gwythlyn swiftly laid informations upon them of the need to despatch a detachment of guard all up through the Scourings of Ragnor; beyond the old Darkling Redoubt, and thence to the ford, north of Lankriggen Forest. There, with fair fortune, they would intercept Eldamar. But, in the eyes of the Shandalar riders, she recognised a cold suspicion.
Her tale was not what they were familiar with... this strange tale of kinship of which she told. The House of Eldamar claimed but one Granddaughter, and that was Queen Cirion. And what of these charcoaling corpses about her? What witchery had manifested in this place? They saw no reason for this carnage. All she was armed with was a simple sword. So, it must be witchery, but Good ... or Evil? Then, the low whisper, "shapeshifter" was heard. The guards closed about her, their eyes hard and merciless; their hands moving to the hilts of their swords.
Starshadow snorted, and lowered his noble head. His great twisting horn glittered brightly; for though fully outnumbered, the guards would be many, who would be pierced with his horn 'ere Gwythlyn's span was run. But then, came the silver note of a signal trumpet, and out of the south came three riders swiftly. This then, was Guard Captain Karina with her escort, riding out from Shandalar to see what stood to the north on the Shandalar Frontier. What was the meaning of this smoke in the sky? Seeing Gwythlyn surrounded by her Frontier guards, with swords half-drawn, she demanded why were they not riding patrol on the Frontier? And what then, demanded such singular issue that they need in strength, beset a single maiden? And could they not see that her mount was not a horse?
For, many were the times, on Eldamar's visits, that Karina had stroked Starshadow's mane, and gently teased his ears in the great Shandalar stables as he stood at manger, and took of his ease. Those nights of soft trysting with Caron in the hayloft. Caron, the pretty, young stable-groom maid she found sweet; tasting the rose-bud of passion, softly blossoming long before their Bonding was consummated.
Karina knew that the brave, bold Starshadow would not permit any, save Eldamar to ride... unless Eldamar himself had bequeathed it so. Then, here was a truthing… it could not be denied. And further, she sensed there was more to this thing than at first gaze, met the eye. So, she elected to ride this maid down to Shandalar, where then, the Council perhaps, would devise some manner to subtly divine the truth of her story. For if it were true, then, great care need be taken. For this then, would not just be a simple maid with a Unicorn; she would be half-cousin to Queen Cirion.
Gwythlyn, again swiftly laid informations to Karina, concerning the ride Eldamar was now making. She told of his path, and the dangers, and of the treasures that need be denied marauding Darklings. She begged for a detachment of guard to be ridden out, for there was much at stake. Karina snapped her fingers to one of her escort to take quill and parchment to make despatch. Then, from a basket hung down from her saddle, Karina brought forth a Merlin... swiftest of all hawks in the Realm of Shandalar. She put it to gauntlet, and gave a small mew through her pursed lips in manner the same as a Falconer, as she communed with the beautiful hawk. Then, wrapping the despatch about with the jesses, she stood a few paces out from the group and cast the Merlin up into the sky, where it hovered for the span of a heart-beat, then flew out to the south towards the Shandalar Citadel, bearing the despatch.
Karina knew the ride from this place, all out across the wide plains would spend at least the remainder of the day, perhaps more. The Merlin would accomplish such a distance in no more than two Sundial shadows as it swiftly carried the despatch, and a troop could then muster, and ride out with fair time before the sun sank in the west. Perhaps, they might reach The Lord Eldamar before he broached the ford on the River Claidell.
Karina then said, they should return to Shandalar. So they rode out onto the Shandalar plain; and as they rode, Karina gave measure to Gwythlyn, for she was indeed, a comely maiden. And Karina had a taste for such comely, young wenches, and an eye, full a'roving as a farmstead tomcat. But such urges, now, were held captive and dungeoned by her love for Caron. Yet, despite this; although, fully beset by concern for Caron now riding the alarm into Lorenfalu; what the eye may not see, the heart will not grieve of... a proverb, Karina held in plain truth.
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She rode, appraising young Gwythlyn's bed-worthiness. Her eyes caressing the figure and form; the curve of her throat, and the jut of her bosom and hips. A guilty flush spread pink and warm upon the cheeks of Karina, and in that swift instant she knew there were no lies cloaking the tale that Gwythlyn had offered. She had seen something in Gwythlyn's eyes... beautiful eyes, of softest, moonbeam-washed Amethyst. And in her bearing there was something, too. There was an echo indeed, of Eldamar's wise, violet eyes; 'aye, her tale, seemingly, stood to the test.
Eldamar came down from the Yeranoor Woldings; striking the course of the River Claidell somewhat to westerly of the ford he was seeking. But, what a tale he held for the telling. After despatching Gwythlyn upon Starshadow out to the north-east, he moved out onto the open, rolling Woldings. Barely four or five Leagues had been run, when out of the north came a dark shape, moving swiftly. As it approached, and grew large in his view, he saw that it was a mighty Green Dragon... a true "Calen-Loki" as it drifted over, and turned again. It was large, with measure, he thought... forty cubits from nose to tail, and half as much again in each span of wing... and were he of Darkling kind, he most certainly would have filled breeches at this sight. Such Darklings deployed in the lurk of ambush, on spying such a Dragon… if they held sound mind, would most swiftly decamp, casting plot for molesting far and away as they fled to seek safe haven deep in the depths of the Forest. Here, they might hope to be beyond the dreadful kiss of the shrivelling flume in the breath of the Dragon; knowing that, were they so witless to stand, then certain was their dooming when beset with such a vision. Eldamar was heartened; for with such an ally, the bodings stood well. Such odds of a manifestation of Darklings, most firmly in his favour, now certainly settled.
Turning to eastwards, Eldamar then followed the lie of the River Claidell, thence, to find the ford. Whilst traversing the wide flooding plain, a ponder on Dragons stood large in his mind. Could he entreat them, he mused, to ally themselves in the manner of Lokari's ruse? Would they stand firm with the Forces of The Light? Or turn their faces from him, full in the deny? Would the remembrance of the long ages of shunning by each and all creatures standing in their gaze when the World changed and all pathways divided, long and ago in The First Age of The Light, confound their alliance?
But, suddenly, all ponder and muse was thrust from him, as he was beset by a great, looming shadow. The Great Calen-Loki landed a little ahead of him, turned... and spoke, in Archaic Charybon Runic; a tongue scarce-heard since The First Age of The Light; saying:
'Thou art Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light, are ye not? I am summoned to stand to thy sight by askance therefrom, my brood youngling, Tahkaiia... The Silver One; in thine Algethi tongue, so known as Celeb-Loki. T'was she who answered thine summons... this charm ye intoned, long since set, as in stone; awaiting the hour that The Light would stand need of the Dragons. T'is now, such time, methinks is in full standing. For I am Khanis; Brood-Sire of the Eyrie of Dragons that ye would call Storien-Rhudd.'
And so, in that place, they made commune one to the other, in the matter of Mordbrood deceit and avarice; and sealed a covenant that they stand firm and allied... and that when the Mordbrood threat manifested; then, such threat they would meet as one. Of a sudden, out to the west, there was a brief glitter in the sunlight. A tiny speck, far off in the sky, was moving low and fast... and naught but the glitter to betray the movement. Khanis gazed out and then, nodded assent; looked down to Eldamar, and spoke with pride:
'Behold, the youngling Tahkaiia... The Silver One, winnowing Darklings who may yet lurk in that place ye would call The Wastes of Plenmellar. I shall stand to her to seek out such tell as she would furnish concerning thy kith-maiden, and whether safe prospect to her doth prevail. For it stands full-clear in the matter of her demeanour, The Silver One has recently laid down flume upon and about some parcel of Darklings, and gifted to them the shrivelling doom.
For she stands beset by a peerless malevolence for every Darkling, even unto the last one. This malevolence stands far back to when she was, but a hatchling with her Brood-Dam in the soft of the springtime, out on the Brood slopes of Storien-Rhudd practising gentle, the skill then, to fly. Adventuring out, with the wind 'neath her winglets... but then, to her gaze from her lofty advantage; of a sudden, her Brood-Dam was beset with a swarm of the Darklings, and no chance to make gift of flume to them.
Her Brood-Dam was pulled down, and her throat slashed across with cutlasses; and into the stream of her blood they made lift all manner of vessels to compass containment of her blood. This, the purpose then, of their attack. For Dragon blood ever was sought by the Darklings to fortify their Black spellbinding. Tahkaiia was too young to make gift of fluming, and 'naught she could do but to turn away and clumsily fly back to Storien-Rhudd to lay forth alarm of what had come to pass. And, though then, we Dragons beset and fully compassed the Brood-slopes; of Darklings, no sight could be found. 'Naught, but the cold, ruined form of Tahkaiia's Brood-Dam, laying still where she fell.'
In the time it had taken Tahkaiia to ponderously fly... for her winglets held not yet, swift speed; the Darklings had fully decamped with their booty, much in the manner of thief in the night, and all that remained then, was to carry her Brood-Dam away to the firing pits of Storien-Gorth, and lay flume about her, as was Dragon custom. This would set her spirit free to the northern winds.
From the high Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd; Tahkaiia sat silently, watching the blue sky as the dark smoke rolled up to the heavens in the fluming of her Brood-Dam. Beset by a sadness that she could not manifest... lost and alone, and compassed all about with her fears; she watched the smoke with her eyes unblinking... for Dragons hold not the gift to shed tears.
But, in this moment, a seed was sown that would grow as Tahkaiia grew; glittering and deadly... a seed that would ever bring a gruesome doom to the Darklings; to each and to all that she held in her sight. This seed of a Malice stood firmly upon, and beyond such grave Malice for all Darkling kind as Dragons had held from time full lost in Antiquity. This was a Malice unwavering; a Malice fully blind to any and all things beyond the destruction of Darklings... no matter their caste or their breed. Tahkaiia grew into that most feared of all Dragons... a Predator-Wanderer.
Dreadful then, was the measure of debt she extracted from such Darklings she came upon as she ranged far and wide over the Outlands of Yeranoor, Plenmellar... wherever Darklings might be found. In her quest stood a consummate cunning. She rode the sky swift and low, thus, to deny her Darkling prey any notion of the slightest concernment that they were fully forfeit... that they would now perish horribly. The sum of their realisation when she fell upon them was her dread, rolling flume blossoming all about them. Perhaps, there might be a single, strangled shriek as they embraced their withering doom, and naught else left to show but their ashes smouldering on the ground.
Khanis rose into the sky with his great wings beating steadily, and flew outwardly towards the glitter, far to the northerly-west. Eldamar made ponder of the tale of the Great Calen-Loki. His instinct stood favourable. It would seem that the Dragons of Storien-Rhudd would indeed stand to The Light, and with such Fellowship formed, then the future for Amriath stood increasingly bright. As he watched; at distance, the Great Calen-Loki flew beside the glittering Tahkaiia for a slender span in passing; then dropped a wing as he turned back towards the place where Eldamar attended his return. The Silver One sped on, far into the Wastes of Plenmellar, seeking out Darklings... to lay withering destruction upon them.
Khanis returned and made settle upon the ground beside Eldamar. He related the tale of Tahkaiia, concerning the confounded ambush; the Darklings' dreadful fate, and how Eldamar's Kith-maid rode with the Shandalar Guard to the Citadel. Heartened, Eldamar then renewed his progress onwardly east to seek out the ford. The Great Calen-Loki flew, drifting on high, casting a watchful gaze round and about. Soon enough, they accomplished the ford that stood north of Lankriggen Forest; and crossing the River Claidell... there! The Old Algethi Trail, along which, lay ruined, the Ragnor Redoubt.
Khanis flew, circling low, as Eldamar made haste all along the old Algethi Trail, bounded by Lankriggen Forest... a gloomy and secretive arbour of menace, groping the sky. And if there were Darklings abroad in the greening, Eldamar was given not a sight 'nor a sound; and nor then, was Khanis, who glided ever watchful... ever circling above.
The old Algethi Trail became broader, and there, like the stump of a rotted tooth, crouched the ruinous Ragnor Redoubt; and there! The most eerie Scourings of Ragnor, where lay the great burial pits thrusting up as naked as the first day they were dug. Not one blade of grass, and not even a weed grew there; the ground was so befouled with the mouldering Darklings that nothing could flourish, not even the most vigorous seed. From here t'was but a league to accomplish the Western plain of Shandalar. Khanis landed in front of Eldamar, and spoke once again, saying:
'Now I shall leave thee. My time here is done, and our covenant bound. Five moons hence, come ye to Council at Camas Mhor in the high Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd, and bring ye this youngling ye call by naming: "Lokari," thine Master of gryphons. For, in truth, methinks I would tarry awhile to hear of this endeavour, for I hold a curiousness as to how a parcel of gryphons might be squadroned; for I know not then, more cantankerous a breed. I have a humour this plan will fully blossom with thy Gryphon Master as Steward to all. For as ye are full in the knowing thereof; in thine Algethi tongue, his name stands splendid in this matter. "Lokari"... "The Dragon Lord." 'Aye, t'is well fitting, and it holds an echo that whisperingly lies, far and away in the mists of forgetting; from long and ago in The First Age of The Light.'
With a thunder of hooves, a parcel of riders came onto the crest of the hill that marched up from the Scourings of Ragnor. Khanis spread his wings and climbed into the sky, saying:
'Fare Thee well. I bid thee fair speed, Lord Eldamar. Thine escort attends, and now thy path lies easy. Stand ye to Storien-Rhudd, in the passing of five moons, for parlance of what then shall come to be.'
And, with that; the Great Calen-Loki turned northwards, with his great wings softly moving, serene and majestic as he rose into the skies with an effortless grace; diminishing into the distance, as if there had never been a Dragon in that place. He turned for home, and soon enough, was a mere smudge in the deeping blue skies of eventide.
Then, from out of the west, came another dark smudge that moved low and fast; and Eldamar knew for certain, that this was Tahkaiia, The Silver One, fresh from her humour of prosecuting doom and destruction in the Wastes of Plenmellar. Against the sky stood a clue to this thing. Several dark, curling fingers of smoke hazingly clutched at northern-most edge of the pale, and lowering gold of the soft sunset. The curling fingers of smoke in the north-westerly skies laid tale of Darklings beset by misfortune; winnowed by Tahkaiia and made gift of her searing flume; rueing the day that they crept through the Wastes of Plenmellar; and now embraced in their shrivelling doom.
The Queen's Guard surrounded Eldamar in a defensive circle. The Captain rode up, and he saw it was Lorimer, fully battle-armoured, and prepared for affray. For, in the despatch carried swiftly by the Merlin, Karina made issue that there might well be Darklings besetting the path of Eldamar, and they need make haste then, and most certainly ride fully prepared to lay grave imposition on such Darkling mischief that might lie in, and about the Scourings of Ragnor, and Lankriggen Forest along the old Algethi Trail. Yet, as they crested the rise above the Scourings of Ragnor; before them, they espied a view most singular in its amazement to all.
Although they very well knew that Eldamar, The Lord Guardian of The Light was wise in matters of The Old Magic; here was a sight they had not thought to chance upon. Eldamar was communing, as if with a brother... but this brother was a Calen-Loki... and not just a Calen-Loki; but the greatest and fiercest the riders had ever then spied... or dreamed of, beset by their wildest night terrors.
The Great Calen-Loki looked to them, and watchfully eyed them with its great amber gaze, then turned again, back to Eldamar; seeming to share some words of farewell in some tongue not known to them. Eldamar seemed to understand what the Calen-Loki said. Then, with their eyes wide, and jaws slack with amazing they watched, as the Dragon lifted into the blue and turned to northward in elegant, effortless majesty, with its wings broadly spread as it flew away in the soft evening sunglow, and was lost in the dusk-deeping sky.
As one then, they stood in awe; and with no shadow of doubting, the riders now knew why Eldamar, of all those who were of The Light; was alone, forechosen from time far before the present, to take up the Mantle of Ghlinngar and carry the Great Tarsius of Yeranoor safe into The Light and far away from the clutch of the Darklings. For they had now witnessed The Old Magic move, and they knew to a man that Amriath was safe in his Stewardship.
And so, with much welcoming, they surrounded Eldamar, besetting him with such questions as, 'how'? and 'wherefore'?... until Lorimer bid them to order. There would be time enough for the tales, but that time was not for now. Though, fully out of bow-shot of Lankriggen Forest, and with the quiet of the grave on the Ragnor Redoubt; not until they had distanced the Scourings of Ragnor would full easement rest upon him.
They rode out of the Scourings of Ragnor; the Queen's Guard gathered in close array about Eldamar; and cresting the heights, the great Shandalar Plain lay shadowed in dusking before them. And there! five Leagues to easterly stood the Spires of the Citadel, softly goldening as they were washed in the last gentle kiss of the westering sun; and this was a most pleasing sight. They would accomplish the refuge of Shandalar Citadel 'ere the first stars twinkled clearly.
Lorimer gave now, 'neath his breath, a most heartsome, great sigh. For now, the relief stood upon him in measure... for now then, no danger lurked in the glim, and they had prevailed in this most precious duty imposed on his troopers... deliverance of Amriath itself, fully into The Light, would be the prize of this endeavour. The Tarsius of Yeranoor was now safe in the hands of Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light... a thing about which Minstrels would weave their songs until the end of time.
Having accomplished the Shandalar Citadel lacking all issue or hindrance, they stood most relieved, in the Great Centre Courtyard, and Queen Cirion herself, greeted them as well met. Then, she cast off her Queenship, and ran, and threw her arms round her Grandfather, as she had done when she was a child. And Eldamar smiled as he held her closely; for always, with Cirion, was he beguiled.
They retired to the Great Royal Chamber, with Cirion eager to hear the full store of tale that Eldamar brought forth from the Outlands, and of the Great Tarsius of Yeranoor. He spoke of the ride through the Corries of Thar, and of Gilmar who rattled his doom, even now. He spoke of his broachment of Great Camas Mhor; of his descent to the plains; and further then, how the distant, great Moat-Tower of Ghlinngar had stood forth to his view... a beckoning finger across Yeranoor. He spoke of the Treasure he found at the Moat-Tower... the Tarsius, the Alfirin, and, even more... of Gwythlyn, the Granddaughter he knew nothing of... Gwythlyn; who even now, travelled here out of the north.
In seeing the unspoken question in Cirion's eyes; then, he gently laid forth the tale of the handsome young Algethi, and the pretty young Algethi maid. He recounted the tale of first love in a land far away to the west. A tale of a sweet dalliance long since passed, in a deep, shady forest, in a Moonflower byre on a soft summer day.
Cirion saw in his wise violet eyes an echo of memory; sad but yet, sweet. For ever then, first love is always the sweetest, no matter if that first love be as fleeting as flurry of snowflakes in the first breath of winter. She smiled; for she knew Eldamar had loved her Grandmother Mirien, but always, his first love lay soft in his heart; and in this, she could find no imposition. She gently touched his arm, looked into his eyes, and spoke softly:
'Stand not in concernment, Grandfather; for I have no issue with you, 'nor surprise. For I have watched the women at Court chattering, as squabbling wood-sparrows do; when you stood forth on your visits to Shandalar. It has oft been in my thoughts that it stands truthful that, as a youngling, Grandfather; you gathered young maidens' hearts with the consummate ease of squirrels a'gathering acorns in the golden time of Autumn. So, then, rest content on this thing.'
Eldamar smiled, as he saw then, in Cirion such wisdom she held far beyond her slim summers. For she stood beset by but, nineteen short summers, and Eldamar knew well, that wisdom appears not then, by age, but more by perceiving; and Cirion held this in measure, and more.
'Now, tell me of your brazen progress all down through the Yeranoor Woldings, and of this fantastical tale of the Dragons; and of this strange tongue in which they may converse,'
She said; her eyes bright as a child, at the tell of the Lammas Torch tales, 'neath a Great Harvest Moon.
And so then, Eldamar made tell of all things that had come to the passing as he progressed from out Yeranoor; and of the Council now, but five moons hence, at the Great Dragon Eyrie above Camas Mhor; and how then, the tongue of the Dragons was Charybon Runic... fully common, in The First Age of Light, and known now, by but a few. But in reading The Tarsius of Yeranoor, he had found, to his delight, an ancient spellbinding laid forth in completeness by Ghlinngar the Seer. A spell that would furnish them with the remembrance of this most ancient of tongues that once compassed the land. This would stand most efficacious for Council in Storien-Rhudd; for the speak would be plain, and bereft of confusion in the forging of alliance; and this stood to advantage, for there was much to gain.
But suddenly, their congress was torn by the great, brazen voice of a Watchtower trumpet. Casting their gaze out through the casement into the north, they spied a parcel of riders. Leading them on was a great, white Unicorn... Starshadow! Progressing on his last, ease-some gallop down into Shandalar, bringing forth Gwythlyn, safe in conveyment... and his duty, well done.
He wheeled at gallop, in through the Gates of the Shandalar Citadel... into the Great courtyard, clatteringly; throwing cobble-struck sparks from his hooves shod with Leissor; and there, a crowd stood, most curiously awaiting a glimpse of this Yeranoor maid. Granddaughter indeed, to Eldamar... t'was true, and so too, then cousin... of sorts, to Queen Cirion. But, what then, would be her Standing at Court? And then, how to address her?
Soon enough, all would become plain; for Cirion had mind to make Gwythlyn Grand Duchess of Shandalar, should she then choose to remain in Shandalar. For it lay clear, in the House of Eldamar; of first-born, her Lineage stood firm... albeit, the Dexter side. That was no matter; alliance with Yeranoor would be most advantageous.
Cirion stood in the Great Council Chamber and laid Proclamation to Council concerning the Standing of Gwythlyn in Shandalar; saying that she desired that they meet without gainsaying; her wish to settle Investiture with all such privilege due, on Gwythlyn forthwith, as Grand Duchess of Shandalar. For it stood clear... it was certainly true, that Gwythlyn's true lineage stood to the House of Eldamar, as did hers; and she... The Crowned Queen. Gwythlyn would be fully equal in claim, and in standing, if fate had, but stood different.
Stannard, the Chancellor of Shandalar, and Proctor of all the High Council made speech in full support of The Queen; all couched in great elegance. Subtly, into doubting hearts did he steal, and when came the time for the 'Aye,' or the 'Nay,' not one turned his face from the wont of The Queen.
This then, was the full flowering of Cirion's Justice, enlightening Shandalar as it had been once long ago in the time of her Grandmother before the Stand in The High Pass of Ling, when Cirion, The Warrior Ice Queen, threw back the Suhai hosts, and the bitter fighting claimed her young Captain in those bright, lost days before the cold hand of grieving clutched at her heart, and beset her about. Those bright, lost days before such freedoms and privilege freely given, were lost forever, and there stood no doubting that the Iron hand of Cirion touched every facet of Shandalar life, from the cradle to the grave. This then, was the grim price exacted for grief of her lost love. Her first, last, and only love, she could not save.
But now, Shandalar stood firmly in The Light, and such times as those were not for the return. Cirion, the younger, stood a benevolent Ruler. No hand 'nor word was raised 'gainst her; there was no whisper of yearning 'nor desire to usurp her. For she was well loved, this Daughter of The Light from the Shining Land. She held a common touch amidst her subjects. Such frettings they held she seemed to understand, and freely made gift of solutions and settlements, standing both equal and fair in their eyes. Thus, in the matter of Gwythlyn; if it were Cirion's choose, then her choose stood true. And so said they all. So now, swift preparation was laid for the progress of Gwythlyn to Court.
The Shandalar Assay bellowed on through the night, as a delicate Circlet of pure Khallis Gold was wrought in the fashion of Yeranoor Windwillow Blossoms. This was a most seemly score; for Yeranoor Windwillow Blossoms closely resembled fragile sweet violets - but having four petals. Their hue matched perfectly, Gwythlyn's eyes. Cirion, mindful of Cilme vell Kiira... "Choosing the Gems," had elected to bring from out of the Great Treasure House of The Shandalar Citadel, a most beautiful thing... the favourite Gem of Serissea of Galeth... some part of The Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor. A Great Gem of softest, moonbeam-washed Amethyst, lacking the tiniest flaw. And, from this great Gem, the Jewel smiths fashioned, deep into the night, with cut and with polish... delicate gems to be set as the petals of the Windwillow blossoms.
They crafted a shimmering delight that perfectly mirrored the beautiful eyes of Gwythlyn; who stood, lacking favour 'nor fear, that she indeed was of The House of Eldamar. Her legacy stood most perfectly plain to any who held, but a shadow of wit. For Violet eyes were most rarely seen in the Algethi. There were but two that had ever been known in all Amriath... The Lord Calamar, and Eldamar, his son.