Chapter Twelve.

The Nemesis of Lothluthil.

Time now stood thin in the Matter of Amriath. The threat from the east stood most ominously present and clear. Back in Rhom, Cuchulain, churgeon to Tristan, fretted. Tallyment told that his 'pothacary store of the balms and salvings stood wanting, in face of what lay before them. His fretting was specifically about Alfirin Tincture, of which, there stood but two hogshead barrels in store beyond that which Eldamar and Gwythlyn had brought out of Yeranoor. He sought out Tristan, and laid this before him. There was the need for more blossoms. Six bushels, he thought were wanting; but where then, to make such a gatherment?

Gwythlyn then spoke forth. Alfirin grew in abundance in far Yeranoor. It grew as thick as the fleas upon a wolfhound, in the small stand of Wychwithy trees close by the farmstead where Gwythlyn had dwelt as she held safe, The Great Tarsius of Yeranoor in the denial to all, save Eldamar. Ghlinngar the Seer had visioned that one day, Eldamar would ride in seeking the Great Moat Tower in quest of The Tarsius. For then, dire indeed, would stand the need of The Light.

She laid bold intent to ride out into Yeranoor, there, to make gatherment of Alfirin blossoms. This intent was swiftly gainsaid by Karina, for escort could not be spared... not one trooper. And the odds were fully even that the Darklings made gatherment about the Borderlands... and there, the peril would stand fat. Even Gwythlyn could not prevail out there alone, all pannier-laden… 'nay, no chance at all.

Gwythlyn stood stubborn. She was a Wraith-Hunter. A parcel of Darklings were small challenge indeed. Karina saw, that if Gwythlyn would not bow to reason, she needs must lay cunning, and lay it in lack of dally. Then, came a swift resolve. She would fly out her Merlin to west, bearing a clear message for Lokari to fly out two gryphons to Rhom from the Great Crystal Castle beset by the Cornflower-Blue Mere. Thence they might progress into far Yeranoor to gather in haste, the Alfirin Blossoms and accomplish their return safe from the clutches of such Darklings as might be in prowl and lurk about there.

Thus, in the space of three Sundial shadows, two gryphons were spied, flying in from the west, to land in the Courtyard of Rhom. T'was Lokari himself, come to answer Karina's entreatment. Lokari though, had devised a plan, more impudent yet, on his easterly ride. Gwythlyn and he would ride the gryphons to Storien-Rhudd, and, as Dragon Lord, he would not be gainsaid aid from Khanis, the Brood-Sire of the Eyrie of Dragons. For they held full Covenant. Lokari needed the strength of a Dragon, for one alone could lift more than that of two gryphons in pair.

Lokari knew that in Storien-Rhudd there was such a Dragon to meet his need, who held name of Chatka. He was a Mighty Cul-Loki, beyond all imagine. This Loki was a Giant... a Golden-red giant. But sadly, Chatka was well spoiled in the hatching. He was simple, clumsy, fully lacking in grace, and devoid of such flume to lay the Withering Doom. T'was whispered that his Brood-Dam had neglected the place where the egg lay for too long a span in the passing, and through the egg cooling, devoid of brood-warmth; the mishap was wrought. He spent his days bumbling about, and when called upon, flew the dead gently to the Great Firing pits of Storien-Gorth, where flume was laid about them. Such was the Dragon Custom, to set their Spirit free into the arms of the winds of the north; and always, his burden was borne reverently. Though teased without mercy by younglings about him, he held not the wit to take rancour. Chatka, indeed, was a true, gentle giant; his humour was placid, and was known never to pall.

Later that day, in the Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd, Lokari and Khanis made commune together concerning this thing, and assent was granted. Chatka would progress to Yeranoor with them, to bring forth the blossoms to Lorenfalu. Lokari then made sight of the youngling Tahkaiia; the lithe Silver female who held shine for him. She glared at Gwythlyn; her great amber eyes full of hardness and fire... perhaps, more. For Tahkaiia stood beset with a jealous demeanour; even as much, as some Algethi maid spurned. Swiftly, Lokari stood to her and made tell of Gwythlyn; and slowly, Tahkaiia's eyes became soft once again. She spoke:

'My Lord, I shall stand sentinel to you as you journey out on the Yeranoor plain. Chatka stands not with the gift of the fluming, and hereabouts t'is certain-sure that Darklings abide in lurk. For though he has great strength, his cunning is feeble... fully lacking in guile; and then, t'is most certainly needful that I fly you close escort. Your gryphons are worthy, but they lack my nimble-ness as we fly thereto.'

And, no more to say. Khanis gifted as near to a shrug as a Loki could make, ruefully saying:

'Were I to forbid this, she would, but defy me. For she is a most headstrong young Celeb-Loki.'

At length, they decamped from Storien-Rhudd; bearing northerly-west, past the shoulder of High Camas Mhor, with Chatka in the lead; flying steadily with the ponderous beat of his great wings, and the gryphons formating with caution; unsure of the swirl, and the gusting of air from off his great flappings which gave rock and buffet if they flew close. Tahkaiia flew ahead; low and fast... ranging wide as she swept and quartered the sky.

Within the creep of one Sundial shadow, they perceived the looming of the Great Moat Tower, and hard by... the stand of Wychwithy trees, wherein, all sun-dappled soft, bloomed the Alfirin. Thus, they stood down, and made gather a'plenty of the small golden blossoms that about them, thickly lay. Tahkaiia, meantime, made drift and circlement round and about, casting gaze every way; glittering silver, as she turned and the sunbeams touched her... spreading dire warning to near, and to far, that such Darklings that might be about, would be wise to keep their own counsel.

The Alfirin was packed into many old oats sacks. Each oats sack contained two bushels, or thereabouts. In tallyment, there were above three-score of the oats sacks all standing thereby... close on two-chaldrons of Alfirin; more than enough to suffice for the Tincture brew for the sum of the oncoming campaign. They laid the sacks, lashed in pairs, about Chatka. Then all rose to the skies, and flew south. There was great consternation as sentries spied the Dragons fast in approachment to the City of Rhom and their alarm was greater still, as Tahkaiia made a low, sweeping passage... glared at them, rose up, and was gone.

In much awe and great trepidation, they progressed out, besetting the mighty Cul-Loki around; unburdening Chatka of his great store of sacks of Alfirin. Above them, with great speed, and small sound, Tahkaiia quartered the sky all about; ever watchful for Darklings in the lurk, but there were none. Soon and enough, great Chatka stood fully unburdened, and made to lift into the sky. As he arose, Tahkaiia joined him, guiding him caringly... as his Brood-Dam might do. She gently turned him northwards towards Storien-Rhudd, as out over the plain they flew. The sacks of Alfirin were carried down into the undercroft, and poured, with greatest of care, into the great copper vessels of stilling, with fires lit 'neath their broad bellies, all simmering there.

Cuchulain stood watching... all bustle and fuss, as the Tincture poured forth in a pale, golden stream out of the 'stilling pipes. At length; there were more than two-thirdendels; much more than the sum of their needs. Indeed, there was so much that a second and third stilling might be employed to a portion of the Tincture to gather the rare, and costly Oil of Alfirin, which was close to wondrous in its healing efficaciousness.

At the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, Calelindi and Staisha made their safe return. During their gryphon flight westwards from Calverstock, Staisha had seen how Calelindi held longing and such bright excitement, in hope of once more seeing Elshore... if there stood, but the slimmest of prospect he yet there tarried. Her eyes were bright as some young Algethi maid, beset by her first Lammas Night dance. But, first; they needs-must meet with Chelaine and Marcus, and lay tell of Callam, still in Calverstock; and how then, the quartering there of the Forces of The Light would indeed be the key to the lock for breaching asunder designs of The Mordbrood to lay siege on Rhom with full impunity.

The Mordbrood would not imagine their doom lay, but two short leagues to the west in The Delvlings. But, soon enough then, they would see, as the Riders of Lothleitha and the squadron of gryphons fell upon them. They would be fully smitten, and the sum of their quest to plunge all into Darkness, would be their bones scattered and bleaching in the sun.

Intelligence laid; Chelaine and Calelindi made progress to the great forge, therein, to seek out Elshore. Calelindi was excited and nervous. Could it be, she still stood in his memory?... One of the young maids who had held such a shine for him, back in the days of the Suhai War? She looked to Chelaine; her eyes bright, yet uncertain. Chelaine gently smiled, and softly opened the door to the forge... and there, Elshore stood. To the eyes of Calelindi, never stood figure more sweet.

True, his hair now, was all beset by the silvering; but as she gazed upon him, he stood near to full sum of the image she carried, from far back in her springtime. Though, he must hold now in lieu, above three-score summers; he still stood tall and strong, fully lacking the stoop and the paunch that such a tally of summers gift to most; as he laid forth his hammer to iron in the heat. His muscles yet rippled, and shone. Clad in 'naught but his breeches, just as she remembered, far back from those bright springtime days, now long in the passing... Elshore... sweated and shining, lit soft, by the forge-glow.

Chelaine smiled. He was indeed, a most handsome Algethi. Were she not faithfully bonded to Marcus, indeed… she might well hold shine to him, herself. She spoke:

'Elshore, pray gift me a moment of your time, 'an ye would.'

Not looking up; he answered,

'Aye, Lady. Pray thee, tarry a moment. This blade stands the need of one more double strike in its fidelity.'

Then laying down hammer, he turned, and made sight of them both gazing upon him with admiring eyes. With a shadow of fluster, he swiftly knelt before Chelaine, saying:

'Your Pardon, Milady, I stand not in full grace before you.'

Then, to his face came full, and complete surprise.

Chelaine swiftly raised him up. There was no requirement for him to kneel before her. Elshore stood forward, made study of Calelindi, and spoke:

'I know your face. Those eyes stand remembrance from far and behind. You are one of the young girls who used to creep into the Calverstock forge-bothy, vexing my thoughts in practise of your new-found, and womanly wiles upon me. 'Aye, t'is little Calelindi; how could I not hold remembrance? And how you have blossomed, my sweet little temptress. Indeed... I remember you.'

With tears to her lashes, Calelindi ran to him, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him. He took hold her waist, lifting her up as if she were, but an infant; and spun her about fully off her feet. Round, and round about, as she laughed through her tear-tumble; her feet kicking up beyond the floor of the forge. Chelaine softly smiled. She quietly crossed the great forge, stepped into the courtyard, and softly closed the door.

She walked back down to the luminous and lustrous Great Hall, where, in patient array, sat Marcus and Staisha, now joined by Lokari; most recently returned from Rhom. And thus, they laid plan of containment concerning the Calverstock quartering of The Forces of The Light; and who would remain at the Great Crystal Castle as custodian of all in the Shining Land. For The Halls of Eldamar would need tending as well. Perhaps then, The Council of Elisriendell, standing by bonded word of Lord Laumil; might keep a watchful eye. It was decided to send forth word into Elisriendell to the Lord Laumil, calling on Covenant laid forth 'twixt him, and Eldamar. Staisha called forth a young Rider of Lothleitha to make gallop to Elisriendell.

She, who stood forward, held, but sixteen summers. She was a slender, blonde beauty, by name of Mahriel. In full leissor mail, with her Unicorn mare running swift as the wind, she rode into the west. They watched her progress all up through the golden meadows bordering the deep forest greening. Her pace was such, that Staisha guessed she would strike Elisriendell within space of some three Sundial-shadows; there, to find Lord Laumil, and entreat for Stewards to stand tend of the Great Crystal Castle, and The Halls of Eldamar, in kind.

As the Sun was softly setting; out on the ramparts of the Great Crystal Castle, a sentry perceived, at the edge of the greening to west; a bright flash that stood for an instant, swift catching his eye. He ran forth to raise such Alarm as was needed. The archers arrayed themselves all about the ramparts. Was this, some Darkling insurgence? For the Riders of Lothleitha now patrolled, not at all. In grave apprehension, they peered into the sunset. A parcel of dark riders stood faintly to their view. They numbered four Cohorts at least, and were making sturdy progress, led on by a pale rider.

And, as one, they knew this was no Darkling ride down through the golden meadows. This was Mahriel in the return. But, what of her riding companions? With careful eyes, Staisha watched as they rode down through the meadows that bordered the Cornflower-Blue Mere, and then turned for the causeway. The riders were all armoured; shining and black... Black Adamaunte armour. A soft, knowing smile made free with her lips. All stood well now… better than well. For these Black riders were out of Elisriendell. They were a closely clutched secret of which none would ever speak. The Lord Laumil indeed had stood sound to his Covenant, for these Black riders were those called by name... The Nemesis of Lothluthil.

The Nemesis of Lothluthil, it was whispered, were, each and all of them, Aure'Algethi; The Golden, or Sunrise Algethi... purest of all Algethi-kind. Darklings, to them, held not one shred of disquietude, or fright. Beneath their armour of toughest Black Adamaunte, they wore full leissor mail... as did their mounts. No bow-shot, 'nor sword stroke, 'nor spear thrust could breach them, and this dreadful truth, all the Darklings well knew. The Nemesis of Lothluthil rode The Singing Woods, deep in the Forests of Elisriendell wherein, the Holy Ones communed with Unicorns... The Singing Woods, wherein, Niirea-Kalhkari were gathered. "Niirea-Kalhkari"... The tears of the Unicorns, when they gathered together to mourn upon that one night, the passing of those of their kind in the swiftly flown year. Their tears were gathered by light of a pale Lammas Moon, by young Algethi maids, in some secret, deep glade. Here then, The Nemesis of Lothluthil stood protectors of all the enchantments woven about these Sacred Rituals.

The Nemesis of Lothluthil were a fearsome, and most secret Brotherhood. Staisha alone could make commune in kind, and only then, with their Master; for he was her Brother. In this reveal; to the mind of Callam, surprise stood complete. She had made no mention to him that she stood so far above simple Algethi... being Shah'Algethi, High-born and Noble. She was content though, to share of her love with a common young Algethi Guardian far below her standing; and here, stood a thing as if seen in a Looking glass.

Eldamar, his Grandfather, had stood in this same place with Mirien Goldenwand. Had now come to pass, the whisper of lost days, now in the returning? It stood, close as neat, as plain-writ parchment. The Circle of Amriath was turning, but now, in the turning, would there stand a New Age?

The Nemesis of Lothluthil assembled silently in the courtyard of the Great Crystal Castle. They passed not a word to the assemblage there. They dismounted as one, with an ominous glitter; thence, they made repair to the stables. The Brother of Staisha progressed down to the lustrous, and luminous Great Hall to lay forth his tell. Lifting his full-faced helm, there stood the knowing his kinship with Staisha. They saw it plain... the forget-me-not blue eyes and pale, golden hair; and he stood four full cubits in stature. A Brother, and no dispute.

This then, would be the only time they would look into the face of a Nemesis Rider... other than this Rider; who laid forth the greetings of the Master of The Council of Elisriendell, The Lord Laumil; gifting the services for such span as they were needed, of The Nemesis of Lothluthil. And further, in Covenant laid with Eldamar, stewardship of The Lord Laumil himself, would be settled upon The Halls of Eldamar; and further again then, Torbair of Aiuthal; most trusted of Algethi; would stand forth in Stewardship here in the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere. This arrangement was to prevail when at length; they rode east for the containment in Calverstock to bolster the Forces of Lorenfalu.

The Nemesis of Lothluthil made not mingle at all; keeping their counsel in full segregation. They were never to be seen lacking full, ominous armour, and being full-face helmed. Small whispers had started. Were they indeed, men?...Or were they Wraiths? For in this thing, stood conundrum complete. They sat not at table, nor seemed to take of easement. Were they mere enchantments with no needing of food? And further, no word was heard spoken amongst them. From out of the stables, no songs of the beer sat fat on the air as the day drew to closing. It stood, full unnatural... most singularly strange.

Stolen novel; please report.

The Algethi out of Elisriendell, and the Riders of Lothleitha made full merriment there, as younglings will do; but the sombre Black riders demurred, standing fully apart. Then, one day, a Rider of Lothleitha, attending her Unicorn, happened by chance, to perceive a Black rider in lack of his full-face closed helm, as towards the stable, she chanced to gaze. And there, stood the sum of the knowing. For as she looked upon the Black rider, she certainly knew now... as swiftly, he turned his face… as black as charcoal; away from her glance. The Nemesis rider, she saw… was Shalodea.

The Shalodea were the Cavern Algethi, who stood lacking the Grace settled upon other Algethi. For they stood not fully in The Light. They were thought close to half-Darkling... not Evil; yet lacking a shred of compassion for those who were not, themselves, Shalodea. Thus, they were feared, and shunned by all other Algethi throughout the Kingdoms and Realms. Mothers told younglings in sleeping time tales... a Shalodea was not one that they would wish to meet on a dark night when whimpering wind moaned in the treetops, and the Moon danced amidst the rushing, raggedy clouds. Thus, the Shalodea were looked upon in close, the same light as full Darklings. They were condemned out of hand, and thus, fully disavowed. The Rider of Lothleitha hurried to Staisha, with her concern writ plain upon her pretty face. She laid the tell of what she had seen… and four Cohorts in their midst! Staisha gently calmed her; all would stand well.

Calling her brother, the Nemesis Leader, by name… Rhynam, to stand attendance to her there; she entreated of him that he lay forth the truth of the Nemesis Riders. For now, their secret stood in the reveal, and thus, such truth need be told to lay any whisper and mutter that might prowl around the Garrison as like some ghost in the night. Her Rider held much trepidation concerning this thing she had seen.

Rhynam lay the tell; open-handed, and truthful. The Nemesis Riders, unto the last one, were, indeed Shalodea, from out of the Caverns of Lothluthil. They stood fully-helmed to guard against the sun, for they were Night Fighters, most secret and deadly. They could see clearly in the dark of the night... as clearly as an Algethi could see in the broad daytime, but could not abide any light that stood brightly upon them.

This then, was why they always wore helm in the daylight. Each helm was flawlessly cunning, and skilfully crafted. Each eye-slot was beset with some thin disc of precious stone to gainsay sun-glare, which they found manifestly fraught. Such helm discs when viewed therethrough, stood clear as a pool of spring water. Their colour, depended upon the stone from which they were cut, be it Amethyst, Topaz, or Tourmaline. These discs were all cunningly hinged and latched within the helms so they did not gainsay full sight; by reason, the discs could be swung up beyond line of sighting when The Nemesis rode in the night out of Lothluthil, to compass the Forests of Elisriendell; or swung down to guard the eyes in the glare of the day.

They rode out, as the Riders of Lothleitha returned homeward by fading daylight, complete of patrol, and bound to their sleeping. The Nemesis of Lothluthil rode at dusking, to range far and wide, and a watch then, to keep throughout the land as it slumbered in darkness. The deep forest greenings, to them, stood bright as day. No Darkling could hope to creep, cloaked by darkness for a moment; and slaughtering Darklings was a true Shalodea delight. This then, was the true reason why no Darkling had ever laid foot in the Kingdom of Elisriendell. The Riders of Lothleitha rode from dawn till eventide; The Nemesis of Lothluthil rode from the sink of the sun until the pale of the dawn.

Here at last, stood the truth... plain in the telling. The secret of Elisriendell was now in full sight. This subtle confoundment, so skilfully crafted in The Halls of Eldamar, now stood clear. Eldamar and Laumil had let sprinkle thin whispers all down through many summers, now spent, and full-run. The myth, carefully woven and spun round about The Nemesis of Lothluthil stood undone. This myth, spun by such whispers made free, to softly creep round the hearth fires, the taverns and bothies; lay forth the tell that The Nemesis Riders were, in truth, Shah'Algethi. Such whispers would bring fear to the black hearts of eavesdropping Darkling spies. Thus, word would creep out, and dread doubt would beset those Darklings who thought to incurse into Elisriendell... knowing plain they would there, be well met by those who stood in The Grace of The High Goddess Elaiana; knowing full well that their span would be forfeit, were they to be discovered; and no hope to see again, the rise of the sun.

But now, stood the need for this myth to stand sturdy, and none to make sight of this needful deceit. The Nemesis of Lothluthil was the Iron fist clothed in the velvet glove of night, to fall upon The Mordbrood as they lay in campment. The Mordbrood in sum, would be fully bereft of the sight of the Riders, clad in their Black armour, upon their Black steeds, lit thin by the flickering light of the campfires. Yet... the Black riders would be able to see their foe, as if in the height of the day; and upon them, such mayhems could be laid. The Mordbrood could be made gift of sword cut, and hoof trample, and few would be left to embrace the new dawn... or so, lay the plan.

The young Rider of Lothleitha; her eyes wide at this impudent ploy, sat now, fully beset with confusion complete. For always, her Sword-sisters made to employ word that The Shalodea were Algethi-kind of small consequence... standing unworthy; their courage of slender measure. But now, with the truth spread plain to her knowing, she thought perhaps, they were most fearsome of all. No word of this must escape forth to the Garrison. Care was the watchword, less there should creep out whisper of this bold deceit to the ears of The Mordbrood. For their spies were manifest, all about. The young Rider of Lothleitha made covenant. No word would pass of this thing she had seen. There would be no whisper concerning the Nemesis Rider; no hint 'nor suggestion, plain spoke, or implied. For much stood, or fell on this singular subterfuge. Thin stood the hope that Beckstrider would prevail at Windlemoss Crag, in denying the march of The Mordbrood to west. He seemed certain to fail; by reason, The Brotherhood of FionnMhor were wilfully out-numbered; close... two-score to the one. Brave as they were; such odds stood plain to fully overwhelm them, as certain as the sinking of the sun.

If this thing came to passing, and Beckstrider failed; then, lacking in harassment; without distraction, The Mordbrood could breach The High Pass of Ling with impunity. The High Watchtower stood, but a pale irritation. With the Hosts united, then could begin the pillage and slaughter; the plunder of Amriath, and the destruction of all those who stood to The Light. They would plunge all into The Next Age of Darkness... the dread "Sath-Ninduru," the Endless Black Night; when the dreaming of Elaiana would lay broken beyond the restoring; thus, gifting the dread, creeping " Night of Shadows Rising," to turn all back to Chaos, as it was in The Age of The Beginnings.

Ten thousand Horanaurks were marching on Amriath; still shining, still defying her fate. Standing firm against them were The Forces of The Light, led by nine Guardians of The Light, and a Wraith-Hunter warrior maid; who stood now, as ready as ever they would be. They were resolved, if this were then, the doom of The Light, they would embrace their doom in such a manner, as minstrels would sing of forever; their stand shining brightly in the cloaking darkness. And, in the matter of distant remembrance, a Great volume would be scribed, laying out the tell in full sum. Perhaps, it might hold name: "The Tarsius of Amriath," that told of what bloomed here, before The Darkness prevailed.

In each of The Kingdoms, The Court Scribes lay the tell in the Common Tongue, such part, as would make complete the volume. Thus, in the melding of The Tarsius, the sum of all knowing was made mingle. And 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; who stood, even now, in the City of Rhom, where such odds were fully even, that The Mordbrood would break at the first; like some great wave besetting a rocky shore; lacking all caution, their Mayhems, to prosecute. For The City of Rhom, within its great curtain wall, was indeed, a sharp thorn in The Mordbrood's foul side. While it yet, prevailed, then all hope of incursion into The Shining Land was, to The Mordbrood, held in full denial, and time stood not in the favour of Rhom. For such time as remained might, by any, be guessed.

Then, one bright morning, a sentry spied a speck in the sky, approaching swiftly from out of the west. There, to their sight came Calelindi's great eagle, talon-beset with a parcel wrapped round with leather; the parcel, in span beyond fully two cubits. It broadened its wings, and stood down to the ground, loosing the long parcel of leather at Eldamar's feet, and studying him with a long, unblinking gaze of its great amber eyes, as if in commune. Then, lifting to skyward, it turned, and flew back into the west.

Eldamar stretched out his hand, reaching down to gather up the parcel. In the unwrapping, they saw his face manifest a fully dumbfounded frown, as he brought to the light, the hilt of a great sword bepommelled with a crystal, carved as like, a Star. His violet eyes were wide and fixed in disbelief; the sum of their looking, both distant and lost. Tristan stood to him, and spoke:

'Stands this well, My Lord Father? You seem to be singularly voice-struck'

Eldamar slowly drew out the Great Sword, and whispered:

'It just cannot be; yet, it is... it is "Eithelhwen."

"Eitheltuil Eledhwen," in short, spoke "Eithelhwen"..."Wellspring of Algethi Light," lay there in his hand. His sword from the time of The Great Suhai Wars, and ever then, thought to be lost... by reason: Eldamar, Filar, and Beckstrider had held a three-sided stand at The Ragnor Redoubt. In parrying a blow struck behindwards of Beckstrider, Eithelhwen's blade clove asunder the Darkling's carcass and burst thereout, striking an Iron stanchion... some part of a buttress, which shattered the blade full in the sharding. Eldamar swiftly cast the hilt aside, and took up a fallen Darkling blade; but in the casting away, the losing stood hard upon him. For this was the sword gifted by The Lord Calamar to young Eldamar when he came of age. The hilt was down-trampled in mellay of battle, and lost; and time had long since then, turned the page in Eldamar's remembering.

There was a parchment note wrapped about the long scabbard, holding in store the truth of this thing. The cast-away hilt had been regained by Eldamar's young swordmaster, who held name... Elshore.

Aye... the same Elshore; swordmaster in the forge of The Halls of Eldamar. Yet never a word did he gift concerning the fate of the Wellspring of Algethi Light... "Eitheltuil Eledhwen", on that dark day. For it was he, whom The Lord Calamar had tasked to bring forth a most suitable blade for the coming of age of his one son, Eldamar. Elshore had made journey to Elisriendell; deep into The Singing Woods, where he knew lay such a sword as had never been seen in the western lands. It was a Wraith-Hunter's sword, out of far Astalan; tended by an Enchantress who ever had been one to look softly upon the young swordsmith as he gathered Corbis wood in the spinney hard by her dwelling, for his craft.

He had played with her daughter, and mended her cooking pots; and on occasion, they sported and laughed as they danced round the fire on the night of the Lammas Torch Ritual. But, never the once, did he see her bedchamber. This held no great matter. They were friends; and her daughter's name was… Calelindi.

The summers had drifted a pace, when the call to arms came, as Suhai stood ripe for affray, and swordsmiths were sorely needed. Elshore, with one score, and five summers upon him, stood up and away from Elisriendell to the Calverstock Outpost that lay in The Delvlings of Lorenfalu. There, he met again, the Enchantress of Lothluthil; come here with her daughter; and being engaged in divining The Glass of Revealment.

The Enchantress made read from the Glass of Revealment to lay tell indeed, of Suhai intent; and there with her, her Bond-mate... a Captain of Cavalry. Elshore wryly thought it was not then meant that they should ever be but friends; but no matter. She stood some five summers above, and beyond him, and he now had no time for romancing. His time was fully taken in the forging of swords, and he held no despond. But, how then, the Circle of Amriath turned; for among the young girls who would peek on him as he laboured in the hot forge, was Calelindi, fully smitten, and wanton of eye.

She held some twelve summers to her, and ripe for the plucking. But Elshore thrust out of his mind such thoughts, for Calelindi had bounced upon his knee in The Singing Woods, and he well knew he would find unthinkable, any such thought of seduction. She was, as young sister to brother might be. Now, close on a score, and ten summers beyond those dark days, she stood there in his forge, and made offer her hand. She was his for the taking, and small time perhaps, to take back those lost summers held in the deny. And, so they made covenant, one to the other, to hold Bond together until their spans were run. And that time perhaps, stood not far to the future.

The time stood now, that Elshore need make reveal to Eldamar the secret that he had guarded far down the long summers. A thing he named Leissoreum. This was a melding of leissor and Iron, and bronze in a meld sum, specific. It was far beyond a leissor-meld blade. Leissoreum clove purest leissor as a hot blade will cleave beeswax, and it was of Leissoreum, that Eithelhwen was newly-forged. And more; to the meld had been added Enchantment far beyond Olistalix-Bane for this Sword of The Light. Calelindi had brought forth a talisman, a gift of her mother… a pure golden leaf... in image of The Lothluthil Rowan leaf, being the symbol of Elaiana; and Elshore, in reverence to The High Goddess, had added this leaf to the shining meltings of the Leissoreum.

Secret and sacred cantations were spoken by Calelindi as he made the pour into the blade mould, for this blade was forge-cast, and forge-cast blades were indeed, keenest of all. The hilt of Eithelhwen was taken with care from the shardings of what once, had stood as her blade. Then, t'was married to the new forging with patience and skilfulness. Soon then, a perfect new marriage was crafted. Eithelhwen now stood above two full cubits from cross-hilt to pointing, and was sweetly balanced. When edged on the whetstone with subtle finesse, she might draw blood from thin air. This thing, Elshore knew.

Eldamar read, yet again, Elshore's parchment. The old rogue had cozened him well, all this time. He studied Eithelhwen as she lay there; a true Sword of The Light, as she glittered sublime in the sunshine. T'was as if she were plucked from out of the dreaming of Elaiana; almost as though The High Goddess would now ride with them to battle. This was a Shining Enchantment; not swiftly confounded. "Eitheltuil Eledhwen"... "Wellspring of Algethi Light"; a beacon of Hope to lay The Darkness in blight. Never before was such a sword seen in Rhom, as brilliantly she shone, drinking in the sunlight.

And, as he gazed at her, his memories drifted to The Ragnor Redoubt in those times, long ago. The three sword-brothers making stand... shoulder to shoulder; competing with one another as to who could make most Darkling blood flow.

'Beckstrider... Good fortune ride with you, my old friend, in Windlemoss Vale. Fare thee well, Brother, to what lies in wait out for you on The Plain of Malphaers.'

'Old Filar... Smile down upon us in our endeavours, Brother; as you sit with Kyla in The Halls of Seithynnor.'

In Calverstock, all stood prepared for containment the Forces of The Light. On The Cornflower-Blue Mere, the Great Crystal Castle was alive with hustle and bustle, awaiting the appearance of Torbair of Aiuthal from out of the west, to assume his Stewardship as was agreed. Meantime, the victualling masters had laid open grain pits and larders in consummate haste; loading all manner of wagons and carts for the swift supply of Calverstock Garrison. The Sergeants-at-Arms had fully pillaged the Arsenals; gathering up weapons, until they were 'nigh, stripped bare, save for a thin tally in remain for defending, if needs must, the Great Crystal Castle. There was small chance of a Darkling intrusion, with matters more pressing in Lorenfalu, but t'were better to be wise.

By one and by two, as the days made progression, the wagons and carts rumbled to the east, so as not to gather curious attentions. Riding with them, each time, were at least two of the Riders of Lothleitha cloaked in disguise. Seemingly; these were no more than travellers abroad, thus, moving the Riders to Calverstock secretly, and not a clue to the Darklings' ears and eyes. The gryphons were flown out in pairs, as if on patrol; yet, not for the return to the Great Crystal Castle, as they stood down to Calverstock, cheating the Darklings the knowing of their presence there. Thus then, the Calverstock Outpost was garrisoned with stealth, so that the ploy would not be discovered. Vexation though, stood in concern of The Nemesis of Lothluthil. Their ride would need subtle guile.

Four Cohorts of Riders in shining Black Armour would stand certain plain, by the shine of the sun as they rode the wide, open reaches to Calverstock, three moons in the gallop. And, they need ride both by day, and by night-time, or garner yet, twice the full span of their ride. Such time in privilege was not theirs to squander. Out there, there were few places they might conceal themselves.

Rhynam, their Leader... the Brother of Staisha, stood in worried ponder; concernment writ plain upon his brow. He saw not, how they might decamp into Calverstock, lacking revealment. For even now, such odds were full even, that watchers laid gaze on Marcus and Chelaine, with full intent on the spying out of informations. If he rode out... even with the sun's sinking; t'was most certain then, that word would creep to The Mordbrood. This creep of informations would surely gainsay such chance of the grave imposition The Nemesis of Lothluthil would gift upon The Mordbrood by dark of the night, as they lay encampment in torpid array.

Calelindi stepped forth from the forge, and softly spoke; saying:

'My Lord; perhaps, I can aid you in this thing. If, t'is your wont, I would enchant a darkening mist, fully cloaking the Riders with swirl and writhe. Such mist will encloak you, as honey will cling to your fingers; with all sight of your progress denied, and it will prevail until you choose to free it, by speaking a word that I will gift to you.'

As she spoke, there came the call of a Signal horn from off the battlements, standing bright and clear. As they looked out, they made spy a parcel of riders, riding in from westerly. They rode down through the golden meadows, and of the lead rider, no guess was needed. Torbair of Aiuthal rode onto the causeway with his comrades… Militia from Elisriendell. They entered into the Courtyard with clatter and sparking hoof, and with a great laugh, Torbair dismounted from his steed, crying greetings to Marcus and Chelaine... a greeting 'twixt friends, standing truthful and fair. The two score of Militia from Elisriendell were his gifting of protection, there to remain. For, long ran the summers behind in the passing, since Torbair had stood with Marcus and Chelaine... not since the time of the Naming of Swords of the Young Ones, had they met in common accord. Torbair told that Laumil now rode to hold stewardship in The Halls of Eldamar in the Bond of their Covenant.

Rhynam had ordered The Nemesis Riders to stand fully prepared, in gathered formation, as Calelindi made weave her Enchantment about them. They need make decamp in the swiftest of haste. Like all Algethi-kind, Rhynam believed in Enchantments, but with this Algethi-wench he could not be certain. Daughter of The Enchantress of Lothluthil's Singing Woods? All he knew as truth, was that she was Elshore's paramour.

But then, as he watched; from off the Corn-flower Blue Mere, tendrils of misting wove up in the rising... all drifting and thickening about The Black riders until their forms faded, and were lost to his eyes. Calelindi stood to him, and spoke:

'My Lord Rhynam; The breath of The High Goddess will conceal you complete. No Darkling shall spy you, for She will breathe upon you even unto Calverstock upon your brave ride. When you accomplish the Deep of The Delvlings, the Charm shall be broken if this word you say: "Miqulaure"... thrice times in the saying. Thence, her breath will fade as the Moon-mist will fade in the morning sunrise.

All to be seen will be wall of mist rolling from the west... as if, then, a storm off the grey, flinty mountains. But it needs more in the weaving, if by chance, the watchers might guess by hearkening your gallop that this is some Enchantment… some impudent darkening. Perhaps, it is wiser to summon thunder and lightning besetting you round. Then, such watchers will believe, t'is, but a summer storm, swift in the passing. Curious... yes; being low to the plain; but, we talk of Darklings unschooled in the wonders of Nature... and such things, they do not understand.'