Chapter Two.

The Benfaction of Khallis.

Many were the long summers that had now drifted and wandered since the Darklings despoiled the soft golden meadows and deep, greening forests of Amriath. The Land, at last, was revealed in its full beauty after the Suhai Overlord was vanquished by Tristan; and the Unicorn Legions of Amriath destroyed the Darkling host in the green, verdant fields and golden meadows surrounding The Cornflower-Blue Mere. After this, the Suhai Empire had crumbled and fallen. The remainder of the Darkling host scattered into the shadowy dread places where the Sun shone, not at all.

With the fear banished; peace came to the forests. The Unicorns frolicked in the golden meadows, and the brave mare, Selenshea... now, Grand-Dam of the flock of young Unicorns, was content with the sight. Out on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, the Great Crystal Castle stretched into the clear blue skies, and with no danger lurking, the gryphons lay dozing in the warmth of the sun as the days drifted by. But what of our Heroes... Marcus and Tristan; Chelaine, Talith, and Landamar? The young ones journeyed to The Halls of Eldamar in the far west of the Shining Land, whilst Landamar sought out The Lost Kingdom of Lorenfalu.

Back in the Halls of Eldamar; at length, the Princesses and the two Brothers were wedded, with Eldamar's blessing, in the manner Chelaine had foresaid. The stones chosen... the Cilme vell Kiira... each one, the colour of each chooser's eyes, out of the Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor, were kept safe in the undercroft of the Halls of Eldamar until their hour would come.

Marcus and Chelaine rode out of the Shining Land to return to the Great Crystal Castle on The Cornflower-Blue Mere, whilst Tristan and Talith rode northerly-east towards Old Eldanore, seeking the Kingdom of Lorenfalu; hearing along the way; the whispers and rumours that The King had returned to raise his Realm once more. But, the renewing could not be as it was before; the Faluans were widely scattered, and so few had lived through the sacking of Rhom. Scarcely two hundred of them were thought to yet survive.

As Tristan and Talith rode up from the Vale of the Delvlings, where Talith picked Moonflowers those ages ago; there... before them, rose the City of Rhom, standing unspoiled in the dying Sun. But, how could this be? The City had been sacked by the Suhai Host... all were put to the blade. They rode to the Palace, with its Golden spires gleaming in the evening sun. Was this an Enchantment? Some witchery?

Landamar sat in the Great Hall at table, consuming some simple meal, quiet and alone. As they made entry, he looked up, astonished. Was this then, his Talith, now returned to Rhom? He had long thought of her as lost; and who then, was this with her? And on her left hand... what of this golden ring shining serene, upon her Bonding finger? His little girl wedded? What then, of this thing?

Talith spoke then, of all things that had come to pass in Amriath. Landamar listened, pondering her tale. At length, he smiled. He was content. The son of Eldamar the Lord Guardian was indeed welcome; for Lorenfalu had the need of the brave. For though, now the curse of the Darklings had passed; never again would Rhom be brought under the yoke of The Darkness.

Slowly, as word carried through the Realms; scattered Faluans returned home. Perhaps, then... in time, the Kingdom of Knowing could rise from the ashes, learned and humane, as it had once been. But, what of the City of Rhom? It was famed for the sacking. How then, did it stand so unspoiled? Landamar recounted, that, when the Darklings over-ran the city, they forced the Thuvian miners to the toil of raising Rhom from the ruins for many moons passing, on pain of slaughter. Rhom would be used as a Darkling Redoubt. When it was done, and the Garrison made sound; the miners were herded together outside the Walls of the City, where they were put to the sword. One Thuvian feigned death, and made good his escape back to the Mines of Khallis to tell of the fate of his fellow miners, but died the same night.

When Landamar first espied Rhom, the only things that moved were carrion birds in the air. Everywhere was choked with the Suhai carcasses. Was there then, some dreadful pestilence stalking within the City walls? Whilst he was probing the deserted Palace, deep in ponder; he came upon two Thuvians, and he laid the question before them. They replied that it was the revenge for their miner brothers who had been so brutally slain. The miners of Khallis entreated their Alchemists to prepare a most dreadful retribution to put down the vermin who had slaughtered their brethren... to lay waste to the Darklings in covert array.

The Alchemists gathered two sackfuls of dustings... pure Leissor, from out of the depths of the mines. Sprinkled into the wells of the City, it would more than outdo the Thuvian miners' intent; for Leissor was purest of all metals. It could impart goodness and nobleness to those who held firm for The Light... but to Darklings; the slightest, swift taste would burn their black hearts out of them.

And so, in the dead of the night, two brave Thuvians crept into the City to sprinkle about a lingering death for the Suhai Garrison. All there would perish... none would survive; 'nor would any Darklings who ventured into Rhom to reform the Garrison. For should they drink so much as a mouthful from out of the wells, they too, would most swiftly embrace their gruesome doom. But, to the Algethi, and the Thuvians, and the world of Men; there was no ill in the well water. Sweetened by Leissor... infused with The Light; t'was said that a water ne'er tasted so fair.

Eight moons had passed while they cleared out the City of Suhai carcasses. For want of better recourse, these were heaped in pyres out on the plains, and when all were fired, t'was said that for many days, sunlight could not breach the smoke. A great, foetid pluming billowed dreadfully; tainting the skies above Lorenfalu against the clear blue over Amriath, and showing as far as The Shining Land.

Eldamar sat quietly in his Halls, and he watched as the dark, sombre smoke slowly faded, and the skies became clear again out to the east in the re-birthing Kingdom of Lorenfalu. He felt the Circle of Amriath softly turn once more. He saw that The Third Age of The Light was upon them, with Guardians new, who would tend to the flame.

Like spring comes a'creeping, then slowly, once more, Lorenfalu returned to The Light. Artisans, Poets; Philosophers and Sages from the reaches of Amriath came there to rekindle tolerance, learning, compassion and charity... all the things that the Suhai had torn asunder... and one thing more... a defence from the Darkness that Tristan had emplaced there. Set upon a watch-tower was an Engine, to warn his standing Militia... the swift Algethi archers; the sturdy Thuvian Axemen; all those who would see the City of Rhom fall no more into Darkness, but flourish un-threatened, in tranquility. The Thuvian metalworkers had fashioned this Engine... a Great, brazen trumpet fashioned with the most profound skill. Its great metal tube was coiled as like a serpent prepared to strike... its throat spanned fully, ten cubits. Yet, it needed but one sturdy fellow to sound its voice... a great deep, booming, roaring bellow. This would be an unmistakable warning to echo through the reaches of Amriath, and even, t'was said; deep into Old Eldanore.

Three summers had passed, and the City of Rhom, having now fully returned to The Light, lived in peace and accord. One fair summer day in The Shining Land, Eldamar received from Rhom, the most joyous word. Talith, now heavy with child... with her time 'nigh upon her; had sent word that he should make haste to The Palace of Rhom to prepare for the welcome of his new grandchild, as the Custom decreed. Eldamar stood outside his Halls, and blew a note on a small, silver horn of Algethi crafting. From out of the shadow-flecked greening, a Unicorn Stallion came boldly and swiftly, in answer.

This then, was Starshadow... first colt of Selenshea; the bravest, and swiftest of all his kind; who answered to none, other than to Eldamar. This was a bond from his birth. Selenshea had breached when her time was upon her. Eldamar had drawn her first colt into the world, and pulled off the caul that mayhap, would have choked him, and put him onto the teat, his first night.

From the beginning, there was a covenant made between them. Starshadow became the mount of Eldamar. He ran like the wild wind and would permit Algethi saddle... a thing, almost all his kind would as like, disdain. But more than this; there was a friendship, an empathy; deep understanding... each to the other. This bonding was unquestioned; for each, on the other, each could then, rely.

Eldamar mounted, and rode out on Starshadow, bound for Lorenfalu. If you have not seen a Unicorn gallop, perhaps, this thing you cannot understand... how well then, was Starshadow named. Perhaps, you should, as like, hold this tell in contemplation.

Were you to gaze at length, far up into the night sky and chance upon the flash of a bright shooting star... this then, is all you would see of Eldamar's passing. A hard ride across Amriath should squander above, and beyond three moons passing before reaching The Delvlings of far Lorenfalu. Eldamar considered, should Starshadow make haste; the towers of Rhom should be sighted in little more than one, and one-half moon wanings.

Dusk of the first day was swiftly a'creeping, as Eldamar rode down through the golden meadows. There, lay the Mere... now a deep, Cobalt blueness. The Great Crystal Castle glowed a soft, crimsoning gold; kissed by the last flames of the dying day, as the sun settled serenely in the western sky. Eldamar gently reined in the eager Starshadow. That was enough for that day, T'was time to rest.

Such a welcoming was received from Chelaine, and from Marcus. The news out of Lorenfalu was freshly told. Chelaine gave a soft, knowing smile, and infinitely gentle, her hand strayed to stroke her belly, still flat... saying,

'I too, am with child, my Lord; but not until the spring has crept softly in return.'

Eldamar was overcome with joy; a Grand-sire twice! What a wondrous thing!

The next day broke sweet, with not a cloud in the clear blue of the sky. They made their preparations to depart for far Lorenfalu, refreshed for the journey, and all in good heart. With all prepared; Eldamar enquired of Chelaine,

'Are you fully content to make the journey to Lorenfalu? It lies above thirty-five Leagues in the travel, and naught but rough track-ways to follow. This will be a journey lacking in ease.'

Marcus agreed. Perhaps, then, to ride out the gryphons... the two younger ones; for they were warm of humour. Baelvane and Gildrim would carry them safely, high up in the skies, and away from all harm. So, with saddles strapped firm, they climbed upon the younglings, who purred at the pleasure of this new game. The gryphons spread their great wings and lifted up into the blue of that beautiful day. Eldamar watched them as they rose into the heavens, and gave rein to Starshadow to ride onwards. Swiftly, he passed below the two gryphons flying majestically and sedately... flying close, one to the other. He rode on through the easterly reaches of Amriath; far on, past the boundings of Old Eldanore and onwards, with the Ice Mountains glittering in the north, until he espied The Delvlings.

The Delvlings... the borders of Lorenfalu, where the Moonflowers grew, thick and white, deep in the shade. He had accomplished Lorenfalu, and the City of Rhom, in the span of less than two moons. Thus are legends born! As he rode up from the Vale of the Delvlings, the Great City Gates were thrown swiftly open, and Landamar rode out with Tristan, to greet him. Whilst they were lost in the greetings, there came a cry from the City watchers. Two creatures were approaching from out of the west on great Dragon wings. Gliding down out of the blue came the gryphons, to land... light as feathers, without the Gates of Rhom. The Brothers were united, and such joy in the greetings.

Swiftly, they all repaired up to the Palace for news of Talith. Her time stood fully upon her, with scarcely one half-span of a Sundial shadow in remain. The old midwife barred all progress; save for Chelaine. The birthing was now close, and the males were banished forthwith. And so they strode and they fretted in harmony out in the corridors, up and down... until suddenly, a bright infant cry brought them back from their anxiousness. Swiftly, they strode to the door... only to find that it was barred to them once again. Another infant was about to come forth, t'was certain sure. Tristan, bemused... searched the face of Eldamar, Twins? Never thought of, in his wildest dreams.

A second, bright cry brought them back from their wonderment. The door opened, and they were allowed to enter. In the great bed in the chamber, lay Talith... so tired, so serene, and so proud. She lay there, a babe in each arm, and she looked at Tristan. Her Emerald eyes sparkled. As he bent to her, she whispered to him that he should acquaint himself with his twin sons. And thus, the Circle of Amriath had softly turned once more.

Eldamar stood back, and he knew without doubt, the issue to spring from Marcus and Chelaine. As he watched his son softly melt like a snowflake, as one infant son took his finger in hand... in manner the same, as Tristan had... to him, on the day of his birth; his thoughts softly caressed the memory of his Mirien Goldenwand. A treacherous tear ran down his old, wise face. If only she were here now, to look upon this wonder.

Though deep in his Autumn; with his violet eyes misting, he wandered in memory far back to his springtime... back to another young mother, so proudly displaying her new-born twin sons with delight... back to the time when his first-born son, Tristan, had curled a tiny hand around his finger, and held firmly and tightly.

Thus, had the Circle of Amriath fully turned. There was, but, still one thing yet undone. In keeping with Custom of Lorenfalu, The High King, himself, would name the Princelings. Landamar bent over Talith. She whispered the namings. He made free with a slow, gentle smile, and strode to the casement. Throwing wide the panels, he gazed down upon the throng gathered there below. Then, in a great voice, to the hushed gathering... a great voice that carried, echoing across Rhom, he proclaimed...

'The First-born shall be named Trillian. The Second shall carry the name, Calamar. Make you rejoicing!'

A great rolling cheer burst from the people, and echoed about the fair City of Rhom. An echo that carried on the wind far out to the Thuvian-Mines of Khallis, and even to Old Eldanore, thirty Leagues distant. Then, they all fell into rejoicing and joyfulness; carousing and drinking, far into the night. Lorenfalu had emerged fully out of darkness. Lorenfalu was again, shining in the sun. A Golden Age was dawning... a time then, for Heroes; a time for Minstrels and Lovers. Like a Sundial at Zenith, the shadows had almost vanished. Yet still, t'was prudent to heed wisdom's word.

For, though at the Zenith, a Sundial yet casts but a thin shadow... there is a thing that may commonly be neglected to be perceived, and yet; a thing the wise one fully recognises. This thing is... that as the Sun ages to evening; always, the shadow lengthens again. No-one thought this as they shared in rejoicing the birth of the Princelings of Lorenfalu. No-one glanced out to the east, far beyond the Plain of Malphaers, to see the faint smoke hanging in the skies above Astalan.

Astalan was five hundred leagues distantly to the east; bordering the far-flung reaches of the desolate Plain of Malphaers... some eighty moons-span in the travel. Astalan was the cradle of all Amriath; from here, the first Questors began the settlement of the western lands. Eldamar glanced swiftly, seeking Dagnorath... safe scabbarded; resting at Tristan's side. Carefully, he watched the firmly-pommelled Topaz. He watched for something he hoped not to see.

There!... Just the faintest, and softest blue flicker. T'was no more than the glow on a soft, summer evening, of fair-weather lightning. And There!... Yet again... the warning, stark and plain before his eyes. What then, was stirring in far distant Astalan? What did Dagnorath sense... was her instinct sound? What breed of Darkling now ravaged the Outlands? The Topaz glowed softly again before his eyes. Eldamar elected to keep his counsel. The threat was yet small, and far distant. There was no purpose in alarming on scant more than instinct... but, an instinct he felt true, somehow.

On the third day, he excused himself for a time, and rode to the north, to the Khallis Mines to seek out Filar, the Buhrodar Clan Chief... his Sword-Brother-in-Arms from far earlier days. Filar stood some three, and one half-cubits in stature; being sturdy and rotund. He wore a large, grey beard, and his hair fell to his shoulders. His hard, warrior face was softened by deep blue eyes, and a crooked, ironic smile. Eldamar had not seen Filar for many summers; but, to his eyes; Filar had not aged at all.

After the sharing a flagon of Khalmead, he laid before Filar, his need and his wont of a fine Birthing gift for his Grandsons... a special gift; something that only the Thuvian smiths of Khallis could fashion. They repaired to the Forge-master's Cavern. Eldamar's request was for two Golden Torcs that would grow as the Princes grew. The Forge-master said he would wrought them himself, and they would be ready by the end of the day. As old friends do, they idled the day away, talking of times long forgotten and past. They drank Khalmead; remembering good times, fair maidens, bold battles... until Eldamar asked of Filar, had he seen the faint smoke so far to the east, across the Astalan skies? What could it mean? Filar's reply was all that Eldamar's instincts had surmised. Filar's tone was cautious; he studied his old friend, and said...

'Word has come lately, out of Astalan. Darklings are pillaging homesteads and farms... lonely, far flung places, all weak and unprotected. As yet, 'tis thought that few folk have come to grave harm. However... the Darklings thus engaged, are, but the dregs of the main force that is rumoured to be coming up from the south... and come then, they will. The word is that they are the vermin called by name: The Mordbrood of Valdarthost; and they are far worse than the Suhai Hosts.'

Filar then said,

'There is scant need for fretting as yet. The tell is, that Amriath is not yet in their designs. Even the Mordbrood are loathe to approach; for they too, have heard word of the Suhai doom. But, should they elect to make free with the western Realms, first, they need strengthen the Brood forty-fold, and that will take half of a life-span in the breeding; and whilst they are breeding, they cannot strike into the west.'

The Mordbrood was made up from black, mongrel Darklings, by name, known as Horanaurks. They were Suhai, thrice interbred with Taraks, and the dreaded Ranulugs, who sucked on the marrow from bones of the dead. Horanaurks were feared throughout the Outlands, and not even the faintest hope to separate them from their loathsome span with common sword metal... not even the finest iron. Small then, the wonder that all warriors ran before them; for, having made them gift of two cubits of sword blade, and having watched them shrug it aside; few had the stomach to strike once again. Those who held, but a shred of this courage, most surely then, paid with their lives for their foolhardy recklessness. There was, but one blade to vanquish a Horanaurk. There was, but one blade, whose kiss would shred them. It was fashioned from the rarest of all precious metals from out of the Khallis mines. The Thuvians called it Angdor, the Algethi name was Leissor.

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And, as they both pondered; the Forge-master came, bearing twin Torcs of a pale, shining gold... a melding of gold, 'aye, and of Leissor, for lightness; and the wroughting was a delicate joy to behold. The Torcs were fashioned from two slender shafts, sliding one into the other; to shorten or lengthen, as was the need. Boldly carved upon them was the image of The Kerim of Arialthor. These were a Masterly crafting indeed. This then, was the first time the Kerim of Arialthor had seen the light since the sacking of the City of Rhom. This, the mighty Royal Seal of the lost House of Eilar, engulfed by darkness for far too long an age.

Filar asked;

'What thought then, of the new Princelings? Will they too, be Guardians when they come of age?'

Eldamar replied,

T'is the hope of my heart that it shall be so; but far too soon yet, to think to write such a chapter.'

Filar nodded;

'And what then, of The Lord Calamar's sword, The Great Shadowcleaver? Is there metal enough of her, for two more blades to be wrought?'

Eldamar nodded;

'There is some of her still; but concerning Chelaine... I think that it shall be more like four wroughtings.'

He knew without doubt, that Chelaine would bring forth twins when her time stood upon her; and four was the score of blades for these younglings, whom, t'was hoped, would all become Guardians in the fullness time. Of this thing, Eldamar was certain.

Filar called Gilmar, his old Assay-Master, and tasked him to seek out his purest Leissor. Two bushels, he thought, would suffice to fortify those precious shardings that yet remained of the Great Shadowcleaver. These blades now mooted, needs must be the finest that ever were wrought... finer than Dagnorath; finer than Farahuine. For only blades such as these would best The Mordbrood, and not even then... less this charm, now to bring to hand.

This was a secret so guarded; no others knew the truth of it. Filar alone, held the key to this thing. From out of a vast oaken chest, he carefully drew a small crystal phial bound about with golden wire, and containing a fine powder... a deep, saffron yellow, shot through with red flecking that shimmered like flames. Holding Eldamar with a solemn gaze; he spoke, quietly...

'This is a thing beyond value... far beyond Gold or the finest Leissor. This is Olistalix-Bane, collected from the caverns of Tanildor, far below ground in the Dark, Hollow Hills. It was gathered by Thorun of Clan Buhrodar in times ancient, and long since passed. He dusted it from rock walls the Olistalix had touched, far back in time, in the drift-mists of Legend. There are many who lust to possess this small phial.'

The Olistalix was a dreadful entity from out of the depths of the Abyss. It was told, in the Ancient Legends, that it held the form of a great, winged monstrosity, wreathed about by intense flames which charred the tunnel walls in its passing. These charrings of the very rock came to be called Olistalix-Bane. It was used as a flux in the tempering of sword blade, to hold edge beyond the wildest dreams of the night. It was said that this flux had been used only once before in Thuvian Legend... on The Lord Calamar's Great Shadowcleaver, to give her dreadful bite.

On a parchment in neat Algethi symbols; Filar set down the Thuvian secrets of meld for Eldamar's Forge-Master. Here was the telling of which, how much; the where, and the when. Here were all of the secrets that were known to none outside the Khallis Armoury. This was a gift beyond measure... the offspring of Comradeship born long ago. The parchment was then firmly folded, and sealed by the candle-melt drip, with the Great Waxen Signet of Clan Buhrodar. Filar studied Eldamar; saying...

'The secrets in this parchment are for your eyes, and the eyes of your Forge-Master... and none other. This condition is laid on pain of the shunning by all the Thuvian Kingdoms, and no welcome to be found in Khallis forever more.'

Eldamar smiled wryly; 'Old friend; you huff much like a Dragon in heat.'

The chamber was suddenly beset with a corpulent silence... then came a great crash of laughter, and from out of his chair, Filar made good his feet. He called for more Khalmead for toasting the Princelings... The health of Eldamar... and fair days in store. A toast to this bright new hope of Amriath, held safe in the arms of their mother, in the City of Rhom.

Eldamar rode back to make gift to the Princelings. The stout-hearted Filar had bid him fair speed. Their Covenant, long held, was now strengthened and bonded. Khallis would rise, if there yet came the needing call. Sword-brothers, they had been once, and may yet be again. The Thuvian Lords would not again, turn their faces away from the needs of Amriath and continue delving for riches, as had happened in the past.

So then, came the presenting of the Torcs to the Princelings; the taking of leave, and the bidding farewell. Eldamar rode back to the Shining Land in all haste, with much then, to tell, and much then, to do. Swiftly, he went down to the forge to seek Elshore and lay upon him what he needs must do. He passed across the two bushels of Leissor... the finest ever yet seen beyond Khallis; and the parchment from Lord Filar. Not in living memory was an Algethi so honoured. As he read the parchment, the wise eyes of Elshore grew wide with wonderment. Here were the secrets, so jealously guarded by Thuvian Metal-masters, deep in the Thuvian Mines.

Algethi blades, elegant... skilfully forged; were scant more than playthings, faced with weapons crafted with such secrets as lay in this parchment. And further; when faced with the phial Eldamar brought forth, then Elshore was left speechless. Olistalix-Bane!... the Fable of every Sword-master. The Legendary flux of the Forge of Lorien... the beautiful Sword Mistress of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil! It was no more believed, than the end of a rainbow... it was no more than a goad to the pride; just a Thuvian mischief! Now, here in his hands was the sum of all knowledge. A gift such as this was close, beyond belief! Eldamar told of the endeavour Elshore need set upon himself. Not since Dagnorath and Farahuine, had there been such a great, skilful wroughting to do. Elshore replied, with the parchment of Filar, he could forge blades to draw blood from the air. He needs must though; send word to his homeland for securing a wood that grew nowhere but there.

The wood Elshore called for was rare... even then, back in his homeland of Elisriendell. The Corbis Tree only grew deep in Lothluthil, in the home of the Holy Ones... in The Singing Woods. It was needed for making a charcoal unlike any other; that glowed nigh, as hot as the sun when bellowed with spirit in the cradle of forging. Only in this, would the colours of forging then run, as if they were water, all down the blade. First, would come saffron, then blood-red; then cherry, and then, at length... pale, golden-straw. This symphony of colours would temper strength and fidelity through all the blade length, leaving it fully trustworthy, with never a flaw.

Eldamar swiftly asked;

'How much of this fabulous wood will you need?'

Elshore replied,

'For four blades, the require shall be fifteen cordings. Each cording must contain ten faggots. No less and no more.'

Eldamar then called forward Elshore's young 'prentice; instructing him now to prepare for this task. He was to carry the requirement of Elshore into Elisriendell, and not make free with his tongue as to what purpose stood this need in The Shining Land. When questioned, he was merely to say t'was Eldamar's wont. For the settling of payment he should take Eldamar's great Signet... a golden-clasped Ruby that shimmered like fire... a gift from his Mirien, given to him upon their Bonding day. He had worn it ever since, upon his Bonding finger. She would be content. She would never dispute the reason why he chose to do this thing now... to lay down this Token of what was once; in barter for protecting all of Amriath in times yet far off; but for times, now certainly foreseen.

There was much work to be done in the forge. The great forge itself, needed to be purified. No hint of base metal 'nor inferior charcoals could be allowed to remain... not one trace that might confound the wroughting. For five moons they toiled, until pureness was settled upon the forge. Then...on the morning of the sixth moon; outside the Forge, they heard a noise... the creaking of cart wheels. They stepped outside to see; and in the courtyard, three Ox-carts stood there, piled high with the cordings of rare Corbis wood. There was far more than enough for the needs of Elshore.

The young 'prentice lad perched high up on the cart, gave a great grin, and sprang down. He handed a sealed letter to Eldamar and held out his other hand. In his palm lay a ring; the golden-clasped Ruby... Eldamar's Great Signet. Eldamar opened the letter. It came from The Lord Laumil, Council Master of Elisriendell, who sent him fair greetings, and hoped that the Corbis wood fulfilled the need that the 'prentice had told of. As for the Signet... there could be no reckoning for the great works that Eldamar embarked upon. Elisriendell would rise to the call when, and if, the need came.

Then, came the shock... it left Eldamar without words. Laumil spoke of Mirien Goldenwand. She was; wrote Laumil; far beyond simple Algethi. She was Shah'Algethi in their land... also called Aure'Algethi... The Golden, or Sunrise Algethi. Mirien was high-born and noble... the purest of all. And also, she was close kin of the Lord Laumil. She was the younger sister of his Lady, the Fair Eilanna. Her gift of Bonding; the Great Ruby Signet was crafted in Elisriendell. In the seeing of the ring, then Laumil knew clearly the truth in the story the young 'prentice lay before him.

Eldamar knew none of these things. When he met her, he simply found love with a fair Algethi Maid. All through their togetherness, she said nothing. She let him believe that she was no more than Algethi, and this... a soft game for her to play. For she had wedded far below her standing to a common young Guardian. But this mattered not, for their love overcame all, and they filled each other with delight.

And more; Laumil had entrusted a gift to the cart master. A wondrous deceit, used throughout the ages by the Elisriendell Sword-masters for vanquishing all armour their blades might encounter.

From out of his tunic, the cart-master drew a small, glittering Leissor box; its size and form taking the shape of an Acorn. It was masterly crafted; an Algethi delight, graven round with a delicate script of Charybon-Runic so fine t'was not easy to read. No matter; for in the letter Laumil had written the sum of the scripting in a hand, plain and fair. Eldamar opened the tiny, hinged lid. The Acorn was delicately lined with spider silk. Nestling therein, were four tiny, bright lozenges... each crystal clear, and shimmering like dew.

These were pure essence of Unicorn tears; the secret enchantment of Lothluthil sword blades. They were gathered by light of a pale Lammas Moon by young Algethi Maidens in the secret forest glades of Lothluthil, deep in Elisriendell, where the Unicorns gathered together upon that one night, to mourn the passing of those of their kind in the swiftly flown year.

When such a lozenge was fitted into a sword; be it in hilt, or in pommel; that sword would cleave through all known Darkling Armour. No Black enchantment could deflect the stroke. If so placed beneath firm-pommelled Eye-stones; the like of Dagnorath, or yet, Farahuine; the lozenge, in Algethi, called "Niirea-Kalhkari" would carry the Death blow... swift, sure, and certain.

Elshore was, by now, far beyond himself with all the wonderment laid on display. Such lozenges had been no more than fable and whimsy when he was no more than a forge lad. In all his long summers as a Master Sword-maker, never had he then, such treasure in hand. The swords he could now fashion would nigh on cleave Mountains asunder. They would stand as true Legends throughout all the Kingdoms! But, time enough yet, for the preening... a habit, that all Algethi craftsmen are oft known to indulge in. Here stood fifteen cordings of Corbis wood for charcoaling, before such dreamings of fame could come to pass.

For sixty long Moons, the charcoal kilns bellowed and roared, disgorging their Ebony Treasure. Winter howled in, and then softly crept out, as spring came a'whispering back. Word came at last from the Great Crystal Castle, serenely beset by The Cornflower-Blue Mere. The hour for Eldamar to ride forth once more stood at hand. Chelaine's time upon her was fast drawing 'nigh.

Eldamar rode out of The Shining Land once again. Starshadow ran as swift as the cold winds that gale from out the grey flinty mountains; racing on to The Cornflower-Blue Mere, shining tranquil in the springtime Sun. As he rode up the great sandy causeway, the gryphons flew down with a welcoming purr. Marcus appeared at the Great Castle Gateway to welcome him, and conduct him to Chelaine. But as then, with Talith, they found the door barred, for Chelaine's time was close at hand. The old nurse bid them begone; and so, once again, came the striding of corridors, fretting together... as it had been, back in the City of Rhom, six months earlier.

Suddenly, a bright Infant cry bade them rush to the doorway. The old nurse decried, bidding them tarry anew. How then, the Circle of Amriath yet turned to trace again, what had gone before. For suddenly, came another soft mewing... twins, yet again? At utmost speed, they accomplished the door of the chamber. This time, the nurse gave them leave to enter, and... with a new babe in each arm; there lay Chelaine. Eldamar's foresight had indeed been answered… but, not in the manner his sight had foretold. Chelaine's first-born infant, indeed, was a son. The one that had followed was a girl-child. She was a beautiful child, with pale blue Agate eyes; her Mother's true image, they had to confess. Marcus was overjoyed; for as well as a son, he had always desired a daughter.

Eldamar though, pondered. Would there be, but three Guardians now? Were his hopes softly coming undone?

As if she had looked deep into his thoughts, as she may well have done; Chelaine called him to her, saying...

'My Lord; how like you then, this - your first Granddaughter? She, with her destiny already planned?'

Eldamar looked puzzled, what did she mean? This tiny pink scrap, scarcely a quarter Sundial span into this world?

Chelaine smiled;

'See here, My Lord; she bears the mark of her Grandmother. She will grow sturdy, and skilful and bold.'

She lifted the swaddling, and showed him a birthmark... a delicate pink, in the shape of a star upon the nape of the infant's neck, and she smiled;

'It is the true mark of my mother Cirion, The Warrior Ice Queen; of whom Minstrels still sing, at hearths throughout the lands. Cirion... who, with but four score of Archers; held back the Suhai Horde in The High Pass of Ling, where she lost her Bodyguard Captain... my father, in that dreadful carnage. I carry the same mark as does now, my daughter. And so, she shall be named after her Grandmother.'

Eldamar nodded; what better name then, than that of her Grandmother... this tiny infant; this Child of The Light? For she may yet prove to be strongest of all the Guardians; her name, in Algethi, meaning: "Shining so Bright."

Eldamar asked; 'What name thought you to settle upon the boy child?'

Chelaine replied that much ponder had been spent seeking this task. They had thought to name him Eldamar; but, she thought perhaps, t'would be prudent at the first, to lay the question before him. Eldamar replied,

'That would be the greatest honour, but alas, you needs must think once again. For never could there be the taking of Guardian name, 'ere the first so called, yet prevails.'

With this, vexation crept about the gathering. If this was the case, then the name Marcus was likewise banished. Thus, quietness beset the chamber, as into deep ponder, they all fell. At last, Chelaine came forth with a settlement. Why not a melding of names into the one? A singular parcel of "Marcus"... and the same of her Great Grandfather "Calamar; Hammer of Astalan." How thought they then, "Callam" for the naming of her first-born son?

With full accord, they rejoiced in the naming, which meant in the Algethi tongue, "Faith of The Light"... no better name, for one destined as Guardian; and, so too, with the naming laid upon his sister. Both of these chosen names, shone so brightly in their meanings.

The next morning Eldamar rode away to Khallis once more, to meet with Filar to tell of the birth of the infants, and the truth of the foresight, so nearly complete. Thence, to beg his Forge-master... should he hold fair humour that day... of the fashioning of two more of the wondrous Torcs. As he approached The Khallis Citadel, Filar came to greet him, a parcel of fabric held out before him. With a wry smile, Filar greeted his old friend; saying,

'There is no cause for entreatment; these have been fashioned some twelve moons, since past.'

He opened the fabric parcel... and there lay two Torcs, being the design of the former, needing only Finials to be fitted at the last. But, how had he known? Filar laughed, and said, with much gentle chiding;

'Mayhap, you should not imagine the Algethi are the only ones gifted with the seeing. The Runes were cast, and the foretelling lay clear. Out on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, in The Great Crystal Castle, two New Guardians have been born. The first is a boy child; the second is a girl.'

He looked at Eldamar, and his eyes filled with mirth. Eldamar, at last found voice in his amazement. All this laid now before him, sweet as honey. He knew of the power of the Thuvian Rune-casting, but he had not seen it... until now. Then; with much mirth and clapping of shoulders, in manner befitting Sword-Brothers of old, Filar bade him repair to the Forge-master's cavern for choosing the Finials. There before them lay all manner of Runic devices and Creatures fantastical; all manner of Thuvian emblems that the Forge-master had arrayed for the choosing.

Filar smiled; 'Come; make your choice, old friend; then we can share a flagon or two.'

Eldamar replied,

'For the boy child, t'is simple; a proud, noble Gryphon, with Dark, Ruby eyes. This will be a powerful Talisman in the memories of the Darklings.'

This would indeed be a Talisman stark in the tell of what lay in wait for them in Amriath, were they so foolish as to try to prosecute such an endeavour. Here was an echo of the nemesis of the Suhai destruction in the green fields and golden meadows set about the Cornflower-Blue Mere. The choice for the girl-child beset with vexation, old Warhorses, such as they. They had not the guile for choosing a symbol befitting a female. So, they fell to argue and bicker until a Thuvian Maiden, come fetching more Khalmead, vexed with the quarrelling, grumpy old men, made free of her thinking. Laying down the flagon of Khalmead; she stood before them, hands upon her hips, bright-eyed; and exasperation in her voice...

'But, for one creature, there would be no child to argue over. Have you let slip your remembrance of the young, brave Selenshea; The Unicorn Mare, who came down with all speed, to carry the arrow-struck Marcus up into the Great Crystal Castle? How more plain need this truth be laid? The Cypher befitting a girl-child should be altogether, more full of grace than that chosen for a boy. It would not be Eagle, or Gryphon, nor Draaken, 'nor Phoenix... all these man-symbols with which you have beset yourselves. A Unicorn Mare is a true creature of The Light, being both graceful and swift, with quenchless fidelity; perfectly fitting for a future Girl Guardian with the path of her Destiny already laid, shining and bright. And further; when the Darklings see The Unicorn Torc, they should well taste cold dread. They will recall such ruin that the Unicorn Legions inflicted, the last time they dared to draw near. They will remember the terror as the Legions thundered out of the Greening, to smite down the Suhai host where they stood. Consider this, My Lords, and pray cease your bickering, 'an you will!'

Filar looked at Eldamar; then at the maid, as if he could not believe his ears. A serving maid admonishing the Lord of Clan Buhrodar as though he was a squabbling child? There crept a portentous silence about the room for a few moments... the Thuvian maid stood; pink-cheeked and bold; waiting for her chastisement. Then Filar laughed... he laughed until the tears streamed down his face. Aye; she was a feisty one; but she spoke the truth; her words stood fair.

Eldamar and Filar attended the maid's counsel. They gave no gainsaying; they found it stood fair. So the Forge-master went to his pouring... the melding of Leissor and gold, with fair guile. Eldamar and Filar made free with the Khalmead, and talked on the fashioning of swords. The Swords for the three boys held no curiosity. They would be of three cubits blade reach; a perfect balance for wielding. But, for the girl-child... such a blade would not be suited, being too cumbering in the weighing.

And thus, came more pondering, as they cast off sword, after sword design, each with some failing of purpose. At length, Filar called for an end to this vexing, and made good his feet. He strode forth to the door and called for the attendance of one his little-known Khuzud-Mahin. These Khuzuds were dread feared throughout the dismal lairs of the Darklings; for if they should suddenly appear in battle, then firm-founded was the dread. The Khuzud-Mahin were Berserkers, who laid assault, fortified on a most singular brew which gave them raw courage... a potion of Wormwood, of Skullcap and Hops, and Valerian.

At the door, there appeared a Thuvian maiden, armoured in leather, and pleasing of form. She stood tall for a Thuvian maid, being in receipt of some three cubits in stature. Her measure of form stood in harmony to her standing. Many Thuvian maids were runty of leg, and corpulent of frame. This maid was not; nor had she the incult features of the Thuvian. Here was no snubby, wide nose. Here, were no beetling brows. Her face was fine-boned and graced with great, deep brown, almond eyes. Her hair tumbled in soft chestnut waves to her shoulders.

T'would be a simple thing to misdeem her as Algethi... true; a diminutive Algethi, but an Algethi none the less. Filar made beckon for her to join with them. He enquired of her... what be her name? She made reply; she was, by name: Kyla Dinush. Filar asked that she should slip her sword from its scabbard. This was "The Dushrakhas"... the vicious "Tarak-splitter."

The Dushrakhas measured one-half and one cubit from pommel to tip; with the slender blade softly sweeping up, being double-edged, and having no cross-guard. The hilt gently curved away, much in the fashion of a Deerhunter's paunching knife, but far more deadly.

This weapon was capable, Filar said, of striking an arm away fully at the shoulder with, but one swift stroke. This then, was the weapon of sort, he thought, for the girl-child. Eldamar agreed; for, though it was naught more than a tool for the slaughter of Darklings, the dreadful Dushrakhas was a beautiful blade. It was flawless in balance, and the weighting was perfection. Indeed, the Dushrakhas was as graceful as a curved, swallow's wing in flight.

As Kyla Dinush took her leave of their company, Eldamar saw the favouring gaze that Filar gifted to her. He cloaked a smile. His old Sword-brother Filar... he who feared 'naught; he who strove not to reveal sentiment, was snared as surely as a rabbit is snared by a poacher's noose. It stood certain-sure that Khallis would soon gain a Clan-Dame.

As they shared another flagon of Khalmead; the Forge-master came with the Torcs he had fashioned. The Gryphon Torc perfectly matched Eldamar's design. The Unicorn Torc was yet, one more Thuvian Masterpiece. It was fashioned of yellow and white gold, with eyes of the softest Blue Agates. Eldamar thought how perfectly they matched the young Cirion's eyes.

Filar then brought forth a scribed plan for the Dushrakhas, and no more then, could Eldamar hold his gratitude and his affection for this, his old Sword-brother; and they embraced, as if, true brothers. Then, mounted on Starshadow; Eldamar took his leave and rode away from Khallis. And soon, time enough, for new tales to begin.

In The Great Crystal Castle on The Cornflower-Blue Mere, the Torcs from Khallis were safely stored away, until came the time that the twins would assume them... perhaps, in five summers... to display truly, their standing as Guardians of The Light. This was the Bright Hope for the future of Amriath, and all the Kingdoms and Realms therein. This was the bright, unspoken promise that, not here, would the Darkness ever prevail.