Chapter Sixteen.

The Massacre at Malphaers.

On the western reaches of The Plain of Malphaers, behind The Heights of Rhyddu; The Mordbrood toiled in the warm mid-morning sun. Gloatingly, they despoiled the last of the corpses of Nindelen's Faluan patrol in preparation for hurling them from their two great catapults in remain, into the City of Rhom. Gleefully, they slashed the bloated bellies open… all the better to spatter putrefaction about the streets. They cracked open the pates… all the better for the spreading about of the oozing brain matter. They thrust their hands into the gaping bellies, scooping out the suppurating entrails so they might flail about as the corpses flew over the City wall.

The stench of corruption sat fat upon the air, yet they seemed not to pay any heed... even to stripping out the odd long-bone from arm or thigh on occasion to hoard as some choice morsel in bolster of their mean campaign victuals. They were so beset with their task, they did not espy the dust standing plain from the south, in swift approach; 'nor did they espy the shadows on the hillside as the gryphon squadron wheeled into attack formation high above.

Still the Horanaurks toiled and sweated in this charnel house of their own making; jesting, and tossing maggots that crawled from the corpses at one another, fully unaware of what now rode down upon them. The thundering hooves of their approaching doom was lost in the shuddering crash of the catapult counterweights falling, as more spoiled corpses were hurled over the City wall. Then, by chance, a Horde-Master happened to look up from his amusement of gutting one more corpse, and to his eyes… bright blood-red, in shock, he beheld the battle-line of Faluans thundering down upon him. He made, close, half-a-turn-about to shriek the Alarm, but not a sound escaped his crooked lips. He fell, cloven in twain by a vicious, sweeping, scything cut from the blade of Karina, and 'ere the two parts of his carcass, spraying about his gouting black blood, made gift of the ground; she was beyond... laying mayhems and carnage about those who tended the great catapults. Her eyes were blazing wild; her terrible icing fury wrapped about her as like some winter cloak. And, in this, as Tristan had feared, her ride was her undoing.

Karina, in her raging fury, had made distance from Gwythlyn and the Faluans. Casting all sound tactical advantage and caution to the winds of chance, her thoughts were blindly beset by the image of the hacked, and ruined corpse of her young Lieutenant Nindelen besliming the cobbles of Rhom. The only thing besetting her mind was the destruction of these vermin. Gwythlyn and the Faluans were engaged in slaughter and mayhems among the Mordbrood in the southern reaches of the encampment who were now grasping Regiment, and thus, they could not lend her their aid. No matter… Karina bore this no heed… no heed at all; for such was her venomous rage as she rode deeper away, hewing down Horanaurks as if they were corn in the summer mow, until...

The chance sweep of a war-scythe took her mount's foremost legs away at the fetlocks, and tumbled her down. She was held in surroundment by screaming Horanaurks, and lay forth with hand-to-hand mellay; piling the ruined carcasses of her victims around and about her. It seemed she might prevail, but then... a chance parry shattered the blade of her sword. Still she fought on, wielding little more than a cubit's length of blade in shard; and still they tumbled, all hacked and shredded before her.

Then, a Horanaurk, creeping in lurk behindwards of her; struck a most slovenly blow to her head. In missing with the blade-edge; the great, wicked spike at the head of the Kelek-Bersker blade pierced her nape of neck. She crumplingly fell… as would a rag doll cast down by a youngling in a fit of pique. There was no pain... indeed she could feel 'naught… 'naught at all. She could not even prevail upon a finger to make twitch. The Horanaurks made circlement, creepingly. This was more to their taste.

Then, suddenly... half the circle stood less their heads, which tumbled about Karina as like ripe apples tumble from a shaken tree bough in the autumn. Gwythlyn had broken mayhem and, as she galloped in compass of the Horanaurks, she had lain a vicious, sweeping blow with her great sword, "Gurthelkaa"; also called "Icing Death." She had lifted a full half-dozen heads from their shoulders as if they were one. As the heads made tumble and bounce, then, fell the gryphon squadron upon The Horanaurks. Those still standing in surround, panicked… and ran for the main body of encampment as the crossbow bolts shrieked about them, and the gryphons dove low to tear and shred with their talons.

Gwythlyn knelt to Karina, seeing the wild fury slowly fading in her eyes; and as it did so, then softly, the pale Golden Orb of her Charas rose out, and drifted up and away, as the sound of Sathulinan whispered on the whimper of the winds from off The Plain of Malphaers. Gazing down, Gwythlyn pondered. Perhaps, this brave, reckless Faluan deserved some word to be spoken over her. T'was not much, but it fitted well, and it would be this:

'This day, You were a beacon to us all. You shone so briefly… yet, so very brightly.'

In sadness, Gwythlyn made to leave Karina; but sadness confounds alertness, and she close, paid the score for this thing. As she rose to mount her warcharger... from the corner of her eye she spied a movement. With the swift response of the Wraith-Hunter so patiently tutored by Ghlinngar, she made crouch of her head as a Kelek-Bersker whistled above, but a hair-span from cleaving her temples. A Horanaurk had charged upon her as she bent to Karina, certain sure he would lay doom upon this Algethi-wench as she knelt, distracted by concern for her fallen comrade. But now, he had beset himself about with the sternest of impositions, cozened by his impetuous vanity.

Gwythlyn swung great" Gurthelkaa", also called "Icing Death," as if, in parry. But this was not parry; this was one vicious style of the dreadful Wraith-Hunter death blow. The razor-sharp edge of Gurthelkaa took the Horanaurk full in his screaming maw; slicing away his head from the nether lip upwardly... much in manner the same, as an egg that has been boiled, is so breached. His carcass staggered some three, or four paces, and then crumpled, gouting out his black life. The upper part of his cloven countenance lay where it had fallen, the blood-red eyes flickering and blinking briefly, as if in complete disclaim of the embrace of his doom.

Meantime; in the Dispensary of Rhom, the first wounded were arriving from off the killing grounds of Malphaers. Cuchulain and Caron were hard-pressed to attend the diverse slash and stabbing wounds that had need of salving; seemingly unending in their manifestation. As they prevailed with the stitch and sew with needle and spiderweb silk; laying Tincture of Alfirin in abundance to the wounds; a Faluan guard made slip the demise of Karina.

Caron hearkened this tell, and as Cuchulain looked upon her, he saw her pretty, dog-rose pink countenance turn to a deathly paleness... as swiftly as a torn water pouch will shed its sum of content. She swayed, and swooned full away. Cuchulain knelt swiftly to her; calling one of his 'pothickers to tend to his stitching. He pressed a phial of pungent herb-juices to her nose, and she gave a small cough and slowly opened her eyes. But they were not the pretty green eyes he had come to love; 'nay, her eyes now, were beset with a circling of gold about the outer reaches of her pretty green eye colouring.

As he watched, in wary fascination; the gold circling slowly grew, until her eyes were not now green ... but golden. She gazed into his face, but she saw him not; then raising herself up, she turned, and walked from his presence. What was this thing? Cuchulain knew full well, eyes did not change their hue. Such colour as was commonly birthed, remained for the span of living. This was deep in wary, and passing strange. He elected to follow her progress.

She led him all through the corridors, thence down into the bowels of the Palace. Such progress she could not embrace in knowing. As she walked the passages, the light faded, the deeper they progressed. Cuchulain saw she stood beset with a faint aura of golden hue... much as the moon is beset by a pale circling of light on nights of icing frost.

As if, from no-where; suddenly, the words of Taeana, the young Khuzud scout who had brought Caron into Rhom that first day; came into his mind. Taeana, in her tell, had laid imagine that Caron was held in The Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana, and that Caron was "Chosen One." Cuchulain had laid this aside, as a sum of salt pinched betwixt finger and thumb, but now? Perhaps, the Khuzud scout had indeed, laid the truthing of this thing..

Such ponder was swift cast aside, as he watched Caron move to the wall and lay her hand upon some hidden latch. A segment of wall slipped back and laid to view a chamber in covert conceal. How might she know of this thing? She made step within, and Cuchulain crept forward... as might a thief in the night; to perceive what lay within the chamber.

As he gazed into the darkness, he beheld in the gloom, Caron lay hand to a link upon the wall, which... as she touched it, took to flaming, although she held 'naught with which she might accomplish this thing. This was an enchantment, far beyond common enchantment. As the link flaringly cast light about the chamber, he beheld, carven in purest white marble; an image standing, of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid gaze upon. The image stood with countenance serene, with eyes closed... as if, in dreaming. She bore a great charger. Upon the charger lay a sword... but not just a sword; this was the mightiest, and most breath-denying sword ever held in the wildest of imaginations. It lay upon the marble charger in a golden scabbard; the scabbard having amber stones set to its length, which stood three-full-cubits in reach. The hilt was pure gold, and set in the pommel was a great, flawless gem of amber that flamed as like some infant sun in the first moments of its birthing.

Then, before his wide, and wondering eyes, Caron took up the sword, and turning, walked past him from the chamber once more, as if he was not there. Her eyes now, were a pure shimmering golden, and the aura cloaking her about stood brighter still. Within the chamber the link began to sink and gutter. Swiftly, Cuchulain stepped within, to gaze upon this wondrous marble image, and there! Upon the charger was carved a scripting in delicate Charybon-Runic. Peering through the lowering glim, he read the words written in the Charybon-Runic tongue, which, in the common Algethi Mother tongue, spoke thus:

"Chosen One, Take up now The Sword of The Light, "Runya en Numen,"

called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth,"

and prosecute The Darkness fully to the breadth of its Dooming."

So, it all stood true, but what now? Cuchulain made hurried step along the darkened passages in the bowels of the Palace. If she slipped his sight he might wander here forever, for one passage appeared much akin to another. Thus, he kept her golden glowing firm in his sight. At length, they prevailed out from the Dispensary into the sunlight. Caron stepped into the Great Courtyard, and there… Cuchulain stood in complete, slack-jawed wonderment at the sight he beheld.

In the Courtyard stood a Unicorn, but, t'was not just a Unicorn. It stood, a Mighty, and Majestic creature; pure white as the driven snow. Its horn was a great, golden spiral, and it gazed at him, fiery amber of eye. Caron swung up onto its back and galloped out of the courtyard... but, there was no clatter of hooves upon the cobbles... no clatter at all.

Cuchulain watched her go, beset with awe and wondering. At length, he made return to the Dispensary and his charges, but he was much bewildered in thought of that which he had seen. He could not cast from his mind that somehow, he had been made gift of the slimmest glimpse into The Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana; and that here was a thing that lay deep in the embrace of The Light, and far beyond his knowing. Eldamar would surely know; but he was riding The Heights of Rhyddu to lay mayhems upon The Mordbrood. Yet perhaps, the old 'pothacary Levan, might hold some part of the knowing. Levan was an ancient. He had progressed from Astalan with the Questors. If any hereabouts, held the Knowing, it would be him.

Thus, Cuchulain sought out Levan, who, as was his habit; sat within, crouching over his 'pothicks and salves. Cuchulain laid the question upon him. Did he know of a mighty golden sword, by name, "Runya en Numen"... called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth?" Levan made turn in his chair, most swiftly for one holding summers upon himself in such store as did he. His eyes, milky with age, were of a sudden, watchful and guarded.

'Aye, Churgeon, but that name has stood not to my hearkening for an age in passing. What know you of this?'

Cuchulain swiftly laid before Levan what he had seen. Levan hearkened the tell, regarding Cuchulain with a demeanour, most sombre. At length, he spoke:

'T'would seem you have been gifted that, which few have ever seen. For what you would call Unicorn was no less than "Foiros, God of the Sun"; often also called by name, "The Burning God". He has, this day, revealed himself to you in his other form. For the symbolic animal of Foiros is the Unicorn. The White Unicorn represents in its uniqueness and its purity… The Sun, and thus... The High Goddess Elaiana.

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The Unicorn; being one of the most magical of all beasts, therefore is also associated with complete virtue which can only be found in a maiden's purity. Little Caron is indeed, "The Chosen One," for she has never known a male; being paramour of the Shandalar Guard Captain, Karina. This is High, and Ancient Magick indeed, that has manifested here, this day. There is much for the Darkling vermin to fear in this thing.'

Then, Levan laid forth in tell, all his knowing of the Sword. Far distant past, in the mists of forgetting, "Runya en Numen"... "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" was once the Symbol of Kingship of a Mighty King who ruled the half-forgotten Dominion of Malardhonrhun, which bounded all of the lands that would, in later ages, be known as Astalan, and The Plain of Malphaers. This stood in the time when Wraiths were hunted all down through the Wild woods to the west.

This King held the name, Elrohir Telrunya, and was a great, and wise Monarch; and his Sword of Kingship was of The Old Magick. "Runya en Numen"… "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" was dreamed forth in The Age of The Beginnings by The High Goddess Elaiana, and stood a bright, shining bastion 'gainst the Forces of The Dread Depths of The Abyss.

The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark" raged at this impudence, which would ever stand to undo his laying forth the so-called "Sath-Ninduru"… "The Night of Shadows Rising"… which he strove ever to manifest, thus to tumble all back to Chaos once more as it was before The Time of The Beginnings. He plotted this thing deep in the Abyss, and at length, elected to send forth a Shadow-Wraith cloaked as a beautiful young maiden, to beguile and seduce the Great King and effect the capture of the great sword "Runya en Numen."

With the sword thus, lost; the path would lie open to the manifestation of the dreaded "Sath-Ninduru." In this would stand a most efficacious deceit, for Baelar knew well, the weaknesses of Algethi and Men. The Great King was fully smitten with this beautiful, young maiden and took her to hearth, and to home. She prevailed upon him with her seduction, for Baelar had mentored this Wraith, specific, in these aforesaid weaknesses of Algethi and Men

The King's "wench" possessed singular artistry in diverse distractions and amusements of abandoned carnality. The Wraith was guileful and cunning. In their bed-chamber amusements, it affected all the mewings and loud cries of a maid pleasured to excess, and the King, though cozened fully by this envisioned reveal of his carnal prowess, was mindful that the King's Dignity should not be slighted by any hearkening to this revelry.

He commanded all guards be stationed at distance from the Royal Bed-chamber, so none might overhear these diversions. And this, was what the Wraith had waited for. One night, as the King snored in his sate, the Wraith decamped with "Runya en Numen"… "Citadel of The Eternal Truth."

Malardhonrhun beheld its doom in the losing of the Sword of The Light, "Runya en Numen"… "Citadel of The Eternal Truth," by the indolent and licentious excesses of King Elrohir Telrunya; cozened as he was, by the guileful and cunning Shadow-Wraith. The King cast himself into self-exile, and wandered to the north for many summers; at length settling in his shame and dishonour, as the Hermit of the great Ice Mountains of Erinthor. Without a King, the golden province in the east fractured and clove asunder, as rival war-lords wrestled for dominion.

The Suhai saw this weakness, and incursed the wounded land in plunder. All was ruin; "Runya en Numen" was lost from The Light. The Kingdom tumbled, and thus, in time became Astalan… which held the fertile and verdant lands, and The Plain of Malphaers, which was arid and dusted.

The Hermit of the great Ice Mountains perished, entombed in the creeping Ice when Erinthor itself was lost. And, what of the sword? When the Questors of Astalan discovered the hidden portal of the labyrinth below the eastern Ice peaks of what would one day become Shandalar, and faced the Barakul in the dim passages; the creature assailed them with a great sword, which it loosed from its grip as it shielded its eyes from the flare of the Questors' links. This sword was "Runya en Numen"... "Citadel of The Eternal Truth," which was taken by Eilar The Wise to his new City which he had named Rhom. Therein it was concealed, to await the time when it would be most needed… the time when "The Chosen One" would come. No word was written; no word was ever spoken of this. "The Chosen One" alone, would hold the knowing to this thing. That was the sum of the knowing as laid by Levan, the Ancient one, who ended his tell to Cuchulain, saying:

'Churgeon, it seems the time of "The Chosen One" stands before us; and in this, shall manifest a mighty enchantment.'

Cuchulain now saw, all that he had pondered stood true. This was deep enchantment. This was the Matter of The Light, and far beyond his wit. He fretted over Caron - if she was still Caron. He could not put the image of those shimmering golden eyes from his thoughts, She was certainly enchanted, but… by whom, and to what purpose?

Thus, it came to pass, in the Matter of Amriath that "The Chosen One," who once was Caron, stable-groom maid of Shandalar, stood at last uncloaked and rode to war bearing the Sword of The Light, "Runya en Numen", called too," Citadel of The Eternal Truth." In this thing was the utter doom of The Mordbrood, which would manifest complete, upon them. For these Horanaurk vermin, there would be no new dawn.

Here now, came forth upon them, the wrath of The High Goddess, Elaiana; appearing as a slender young maid; clad not, in armour... more a simple linen shift; who rode a Unicorn that was not a Unicorn… more a mighty creature having a horn that was not a horn, but a shining golden spiral, and fiery amber of eye. But, just one more Algethi-wench to Horanaurk gaze. An Algethi-wench with such a prize; a golden sword, far too great in measure for her to wield to advantage. Easy pickings, or so they would think. Yet, when they elected to take such prize, as they most surely would; they would find it were no prize at all.

The prize would stand manifest as naked, gut-wrenching terror as they embraced the wrath of The High Goddess, Elaiana. Such wrath as might be laid upon them was not for the knowing; but it lay certain-sure, that it would be terrible. Alas; for them, such knowing was not for now.

For now; was the truth that the day was standing not well for The Forces of The Light. Gwythlyn had incursed close on half-a- league into The Mordbrood encampment, losing above a score of the Faluan guard. The Shadaiians made shape-shift in the heart of the encampment and fared better. They lost but a dozen at this time... in the main, as they cloaked to creatures of the plain to move in covert deceit about their prey. Plain lizards were stamped upon; birds snatched from the air, snakes were cloven asunder. Even in this, the prosecution of their doom upon the Horanaurks was grim to behold.

The Shadaiians lay waste the soft underbelly of The Mordbrood encampment with fire and with sword. The Nemesis of Lothluthil had swept down upon The Mordbrood northern flank in full battle charge, and their carnage here, was most grim. The full four Cohorts breached The Mordbrood defence and fell to the slaughter. Yet, they too, took losses. The Horanaurks perceived that if they might unhorse one of the dreaded Black riders; a sturdy blow, driven hard down upon them with the wicked spike of the Kelek-Bersker as they lay upon the ground, would sometimes pierce their tough Adamaunte armour, were the blow sturdy in sum.. In this fashion, almost a half-cohort of riders were now perished, or limping back to Rhom.

The Companions of Rhom laid a dreadful carnage upon the western-most ranks of the Horanaurk flank. Eldamar, Tristan, and Marcus rode as the spearhead; their mighty Guardian swords imposing a dreadful slaughter upon the screaming Mordbrood. Chelaine and Talith, in company with Trillian, Callam, and Arlanna, rode close support, laying blood-spattering mayhem amongst the Horanaurks as the air rang with the bright shriek of Leissor blades cleaving through Mordbrood armour, and the sickening, wet crunching as the blades sheared through the splintering bone beneath. Then... Calamity!

Callam was unhorsed by a chance blow from a wildly-swung Kelek-Bersker. Lying there, forsaken for a thin span, by his breath; he saw a screaming Horanaurk loom above him. He saw the glittering Kelek-Bersker swung aloft, poised to drive its spike down into him. He saw the gleam of triumph shining in the blood-red eyes... then suddenly, they gleamed no more. Black blood sprayed all about, and the carcass of the Horanaurk seemed to slide asunder into two writhing portions... the upper portion slipped sideways and struck the ground with a gruesome wet thud. The lower portion staggered a few paces, then toppled gouting out its black life all about.

Callam glanced about him, and saw the golden-armoured rider there before him, and the black Horanaurk blood dripping from the shining sword blade. His mother... Chelaine! She had seen his misfortunate tumble, and had galloped to lay a vicious, sweeping stroke with her sword... her mother's Great Sword of Shandalar, "Arnsulforth" also called "Blizzard of The North." The blade struck his assailant about the left shoulder and sliced down through his carcass, cleaving asunder his backbone, to burst out above his right hip. She spoke; her voice faint muffled by her closed face war-helm,

'Come, my son, I did not carry you in my belly for 'nigh on a score of moon wanings to have you greet Sathulinan skewered on the spike of some Darkling blade like some spitted rabbit!'

She swiftly slipped her right foot from out of her stirrup, and threw her leg up and around the wide pommel of her war saddle in manner of maid riding side saddle; reaching her arm down to Callam. He laid foot into her empty stirrup, and pulled himself up onto the flank of her charger, wrapping his arm about his mother's waist.

Then they were away; laying about to left and to right with their swords, as Chelaine galloped to where Callam's mount loose cantered forth. Drawing close alongside his mount, Callam forsook the clutch about his mother's waist and sprang into his mount's saddle, swiftly accomplishing feet to stirrups. He cried,

'My thanks, mother... fare thee well, this day!'

And, as one; they rode back into the fray, laying bloody mayhems to left and to right.

Meantime; Eldamar, Tristan, and the other Guardians had scythed a pathway through the Horanaurk Horde and were riding the eastern flank to draw attention away from the impending charge down the Flank of Rhyddu by the battle lines of the Rhom Cavalry. They had formed up in a box square as Tristan had planned; with the Riders of Lothleitha formated within the square. Then they charged; washing down the flank of Rhyddu like some river in spate.

As they accomplished the lower slopes, where the flank flattened to the plain, the foremost boxed ranks spread asunder. The Riders of Lothleitha…a frightening wave of pure white mounts with glittering horns, and riders clad in sun-sparkling, leissor mail swept out to fall upon the Horanaurks as was planned; and dreadful was their reckoning. Upon receipt of this assault, the main body of Mordbrood had... as was previously forethought; taken to rout... filling their breeches in terror in face of these glittering maidens upon their Unicorns, only to be embraced by the Companions from out of Calverstock, and there, cut to pieces.

The gryphon squadron riders, now devoid of bolts for their crossbows, had stood down to The Plain of Malphaers to prosecute such advantage they might garner, by laying forth with their swords. The gryphons, now unencumbered with riders, fell to their sport of shredding Darklings, and for a pair of Sundial shadows, it stood fair assumption that The Forces of The Light might take the day.

Alas, the Horde-Masters forced Regiment anew, and by sheer sturdiness in numbers, began to gain advantage. The Guardians of The Light formed a box stand, shoulder to shoulder; awaiting the onslaught, and then... from out of the south, came a slender young maid, clad not in armour... more a simple linen shift; who rode a Unicorn that was not a Unicorn; more a mighty creature having a horn that was not a horn, but a shining golden spiral, and fiery amber eyes. Just one more Algethi-wench to the slaughter…

Not so…

As she approached, there was no thrum of gallop; and as she cast off distance, a soft golden aura cloaked her about, growing in brightness as she drew closer. They saw it was Caron, and yet... it was not Caron. Her eyes were not the pretty green, but blazed brazenly golden. Wonderment stood plain in their faces. Even Eldamar had never seen such a thing. The Mordbrood trembled. This was some dreadful enchantment riding down upon them. Where were the Shadow-Wraiths? Where were the Baelar'enin? Where was The Dark Lord?

The slender maid then drew forth a shining sword, and held it on high. The Mordbrood knew their destruction lay in this mighty, golden-hilted sword, but they had not the guile, 'nor the wit to know by what manner they were gifted with this knowing... only knowing this were standing plain, and most dreadfully true.

The slender maid held the great sword aloft, even to the furthest reach of her sword arm. The great, shining blade that spanned a full three cubits began to glow softly. Brighter and brighter it grew, and as it so brightened, then the maid and her Unicorn were beset by the same brightening glow that swelled until it gave pain to the eyes. The Horanaurks began wailing and falling back, knowing they now looked upon the face of their harbinger of doom; that they were now fully undone, and their black lives now stood fully forfeit... knowing that in this place, they would embrace their destruction complete. They turned, and they ran.

A brilliant Golden Orb appeared in the air above the point of the sword, in gentle turn-about... as like, some infant's spinning top running to its ending. Suddenly, a blinding, golden-white lance of light stabbed out from the Orb. It accomplished the distance to the closest Horanaurk in the span of a heart-beat, and smote the Horanaurk between his shoulders. His body glowed, and they could perceive his gaunt, misshapen frame of bones within his writhing carcass. His blood-red eyes blazed a fiery orange, all steaming... then burst forth meltingly, out of his skull.

The lance of blinding light stabbed from out of his chest, and struck the next Horanaurk... and the next, and the next. This dreadful lance of light progressed, stabbing from Horanaurk to Horanaurk; unwaning in its blinding brilliance, until each and every one of The Mordbrood were strung upon this terrible lance of blinding light in the manner that roast sweet chestnuts are strung upon a measure of twine; and each was fully smitten, as was the first. This dreadful lance of light danced all about the Mordbrood encampment far swifter than the eye might match its progression. None would escape.

Wailing in terror, they cast down Kelek-Berskers and tried to flee, only to be swiftly smitten; writhing and shrieking in their dreadful doom. Yet it did not pierce, it did not even touch, one of those who stood with The Forces of The Light. Who gazed upon this thing, awestruck by this ruination of The Mordbrood Host.

Suddenly, the lance of golden-white light was no more. As it forsook the Horanaurks; each in his turn... as the lance of light passed from out of his ruined carcass; swiftly crumbled to a smoulder of ashes. Fearful of what might there, be manifested; the companions cast gaze towards the slender young maid, and saw Caron, mounted on what was now 'naught, but a Unicorn. Her eyes gazed in confusion about this place... eyes that were no longer the brazen gold, but her own hue... the pretty green. The great golden sword lay slack in her grasp. She slipped from the Unicorn and fell crumpled upon the ground. They sped to where she lay. She opened her eyes, as would a child at the wakening time, distant and vague.

Eldamar had taken up the golden sword, and was studying it. He knew it at once. It was the Great Defender of The Light, "Runya en Numen"... called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth." It was the fabled lost sword of King Elrohir Telrunya, of the doomed Dominion of Malardhonrhun. So, that was the sum of this thing. Little Caron was "The Chosen One." The High Goddess Elaiana had made intercedence in this matter. All that had been forewritten was coming to pass. The Light would prevail; there would be no New Age of Darkness. Not on this day.

Eldamar gazed out across The Plain of Malphaers. Not one Mordbrood stood there in remain. The sum of their black ambition was now 'naught, but the swirlings and scatterings of ashes, tugged by the whimpering winds from the east.