Chapter Eight.

The Faded Hostelry: "The Raven."

Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm, in company with his Constabulary Overseers and troop of Constables, rode down upon the spinney of Oaks that stood astride the rise above the Corries of Thar. All was still, save the rustle of the west wind in the greening. T'was quiet… too quiet. No birds sang. The company rode on… but wary now. Still, there was 'naught to be seen; 'naught to be heard, save the wind in the treetops… sighing, as if it were privy to some thing of which, they were not.

Then, it came. A single, thin clank of metal upon metal…a trifling sound…seeming off-lying, and unsettled as to wherefrom it came. Dalian Pengweth; the Overseer riding with Rethir Elwand, spoke softly;

'Hearken, Rethir; heard you that? Wherefrom, think you?'

Cautiously glancing about, Rethir Elwand replied...

'From forwardly, and to our right-most hand, methinks. Perhaps, from below the shoulder of the scarp of the Corries. T'would be prudent to sound the Alert, for none about here are as like, to be compeers to our endeavour. T'is as like, they shall be...'

Elwand's opine on what the sound might be, was stayed by a distant, harsh cry. Then came the sudden drumming of hooves, and a swarm of Chutaks burst from out the cover of the spinney, no more than two-score of cubits before them. Hauling their mounts about, the company made to retire in sturdy haste. As they so did; yet more Chutaks came from behindwardly of them, having progressed by stealth from out of the Corries of Thar.

Held in surround, the company was ensnared. Drawing blade, Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm, in company with his seven Constabulary Overseers and troop of ten, and five Constables, stood to engage close on three-score of these dreadful Darkling vermin. The sum of this stand, alas, was beyond question, or dispute, or doubting.

Though they fought valiantly; taking many with them; in the end all were slain; being hacked down with the black, Karuk blades… or having their throats torn out by the sharp, needle-like teeth of the Chutaks. When all were lost; and lost they were, forever… for none who lay here would rise to Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island; having perished in such manner; the Chutaks evinced the loathsome wont of their kind. The bodies were fallen upon and colloped for victuals.

Such choice morsels, the Chutaks kept for themselves; the remain were tossed to their mounts, which too, were merciless, and frenzied flesh-eaters. Soon enough, all that lay in remain of the Constabulary patrol and their mounts from out of The Queen's Constabulary Station of Calenlaide, were scattered sinews and tripes, and gnawed, splintered bones.

Thus passed Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm, in company with his Constabulary Overseers and troop of Constables. Not for them; the hearkening to the Song of Sathulinan as their Charas were called homewards... for homewards, would they never be called; condemned to wander the Dying Lands forever.

Glutted with Algethi flesh; the vile covey of the dregs of The Abyss gathered, and turning to the north; surged out from the spinney of Oaks above the Corries of Thar in seek of fresh prey. Their pale, yellow eyes were laid firmly upon High Camas Mhor, which reared distantly before them; and below it, the honey-hued walls of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn. With a howl of merciless intent, they urged their gruesome mounts to a raking, loping hurtle; resolved on fresh butchery. As the thunder of ride waned from the now-silent spinney, the carrion birds… the crows and the magpies, flocked to the scattered tripes and offal; squabbling over some choice shred of flesh or prized tatter of entrails.

From his station on the walls of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn; the young sentinel, Nithil Valadar espied the black knot of riders coming on from out of the south. Swiftly, he ran to raise the Alarm. Khanis and Gwythlyn came to the wall and gazed into the south. Khanis beheld Gwythlyn catch her breath. He glanced to her, and saw her face was pale. She spoke softly; well-'nigh beneath her breath;

'Chutaks! They can be no other. Tarry not, my love; call the full Alarm. There is slender span of time for us to prepare, and none of it for squander... 'else we be lost.'

Khanis turned about to lay the command. The Redoubt troop Cornet: Werryn Harnad stood to him, saying,

'My Lord, grant me leave to ride out the squadron in intercept. We may secure for you a little while in passing, 'an we engage them at distance; so you may make bolster of your defences.'

Gwythlyn stayed him, swiftly.

'Nay, Cornet Harnad; your squadron would be fully forfeit in less span in passing than a snowflake settling upon your palm would melt into a drop of water. 'An you would favour our adversity; make you good your legs, seek out the Lord Lokari in the Halls of Tutelage, and bid him gather his archers.'

As he decamped to her bidding, Khanis called for troughs of earth to be hauled up to the ramparts. In this, was a bitter device for the Chutaks. The archers would stab their arrows upright into the earth-filled troughs set at their feet. This ploy would diminish the time it took to nock, draw, and loose; as drawing from a quiver would hamper weight of flight. And further, this held that the point of an arrow would, as-like, pollute the wound of those so pierced.

Lokari came swiftly to the wall. He cast studied scrutiny at the oncoming ride that had been joined by many more riding up from the south. He spoke; his voice, grim;

'We have something less than one-quarter of a Sundial shadow-span to prepare, my Lord; I have rousted the Garrison archers... and too; my 'prentices. You shall not find them wanting.'

As he spoke, there came the clatter of many feet upon the rampart steps as the archers and Lokari's 'prentices swarmed to the walls. They espoused their stand; one 'prentice betwixt two seasoned archers. An accomplished archer could hit a foe at thirty cubits part of the time, and could always hit a knot of riders such as that which now came down upon them. The archers would aim at a stretch of land and shoot a rain of arrows, hitting without discernment, anyone therein. T'was not a gallant tactic; but, these Chutak vermin were not a gallant foe; and t'was a singularly efficacious measure for laying a sturdy doom upon them.

Further; the war-arrow heads were affixed to the arrow shaft with a small blob of hard beeswax, so that if they were to be grasped and torn out of the wounding, only the shaft would prevail, leaving the head lodged deep in the victim, which would certain-sure cause a polluted wound. Mindful of this; Lokari watched the approach. He raised his hand, and three-score of archers and 'prentices drew forth their first arrows from the earth-filled troughs at their feet; nocking them to their powerful, double-curved, War bows.

At Arlanronde, far to the southerly west; the sentinels keeping watch from the walls were not a little startled to espy a lone rider coming in from the north at sturdy pace. As the rider drew nigh, they were indeed surprised to see that it was Beshlie of Calverstock. Why then, did she come in from northerly, and not from the east? Calverstock lay to eastwards. No matter; they called for the gates to be opened to permit her ingress. Within the great cobbled courtyard that stretched before the Hall of Arlanronde she made dismount. An Ostler came forth to attend her mount, and she strode across the stone bridgework to the sturdy oaken principal door all sheathed in iron. The door was opened by Eldamar's steward. He posed no question, but pondered upon why the Mistress of the Riders of Lothleitha presented herself thus, being attired in common riding habit, and not her familiar Leissor mail.

Beshlie of Calverstock told that she had ridden out in seek of her sword-sister, Kathalyn. The steward, Falderil Cradrel; led her through the great gallery and up the curving stairway to the dwelling chamber of Eldamar and Artanis. Entering in; she was bid welcome by Eldamar.

'Why; t'is Beshlie. You are welcome child, but what do you here?'

She made reply;

'I seek out Kathalyn. T'is needful that I parley with her in concern of a matter of The Chosen Daughters of The Light, and such parley is for none other than her hearkening.'

Eldamar was, in truth, a little taken aback at the humour in her reveal. But then; such were the ways of maidens, and so, he chose not to disaccord her terse, and disgracious demeanour. He smiled, ruefully.

'Then, I fear your ride is squandered in full sum, Mistress Beshlie. She is not here. She is in Rhom, embracing apprise of the Great Golden Sword of The Light: "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" which she shall carry forth, as is foretold.'

He saw the vexation flit into her countenance. A vexation that was swiftly cloaked; and, of a sudden, he felt ill at ease. There was something here that stood, not befitting the Beshlie that he knew.

She smiled wanly, though her eyes did not.

'Then I shall bid you farewell, and ride for Rhom, My Lord.'

And turning on her heel, she absented herself from his presence.

Standing at the chamber casement, he watched her ride out of Arlanronde, into the east. The prowl of disquiet and unease beset him about. Here, there had been something. It could not be of The Darkness; t'was Beshlie, and she had progressed the inner Enchanted Girdle that compassed the Great Hall in lack of mishap. His mighty Guardian sword, "Eithelhwen"... "Wellspring of Algethi Light," which lay in the corner of the chamber had not flared in her pommel stone. For these Swords of The Light sensed Darkling presence at sturdy distance, and warned with flash and glitter in the depths of their Pommel-stones. Here, there had been none. Nonetheless, the disquietude remained as he watched her galloping distant.

Eldamar though; had he made sturdy study of Beshlie; rather than embracing bemuse at her demeanour, would have perceived this… Had he laid sturdy regard to her eyes, he would have descried that they were not the hazel-nut brown hue, softly flecked with pure amber. 'Nay; had he laid watchful regard; he would have perceived that they were close-black as a moonless night.

In truth; the maiden who had stood before him in insolent array, was not Beshlie of Calverstock at all. She was the False Beshlie, recently come from out of the farmstead hard by the crumbling Moat-Tower of the long-since passed Ghlinngar the Seer; far to the north, on the Great Plains of Yeranoor.

The half-blood; for that was what she was… was the issue of The Female "Baelar'enin" in cloak of the comely Faerie maiden who had seduced the Malcontent Lordling, Rinil Farondar, and perfused her begotten infant's willing mind with pernicious hatred. She had progressed into the Shining Lands beneath the Enchanted Girdle. Her passage therethrough... though in truth, t'would seem she could have breached the same with impunity; was by way of a bore fashioned by one of the Shanik… the mighty, pale-hued worms from out of The Abyss. This bore had been scoured and gouged into the Overlight a little to the south of the White stones of Foxcote.

She had accomplished the Overlight lacking harm 'nor imposition… save this; her eyes were not now the hazel-nut brown hue, softly flecked with pure amber, of the true Beshlie. They were black; black as the depths of The Abyss. As she had passed under the Enchanted Girdle, it had laid its mark upon her in manner of her hue of eye; in plain sight for the seeing by those who might elect to inspect her with singular mistrust. No matter; here, deep in the Forest of Lothluthil she would be held in full lack of dubosity. Did not the True Beshlie ride these forests? She would, were she espied; be deemed as the Mistress of The Riders of Lothluthil in return to the covert glade where lay the settlement of The Sisterhood.

The False Beshlie had entrapped a traveller and relieved him of his mount; having despatched him with the long, black Karuk dagger she carried concealed about her riding habit. Then, she had ridden for Arlanronde to seek out The Golden Child... Kathalyn Seregon; and to insinuate herself into the Company of The Light. Now, she needs-must ride into the east… to Rhom, and effect her covert insinuation afresh. This was a bothersome chafe to her designs, but no matter; she could bide her time. The Advent of The End of the Shining Days drew close; the first foray of The Darkness… the punitive smiting down to ruination of Khallis, and the destruction of those contumelious Thuvians who had dared to forge alliance with The Light, was discharged.

The Chutaks were incursing Shandalar as she rode into the east. Soon enough, those impudent Algethi; and specifically, The Shandalar Queen... she, who had defied the might of The Mordbrood of Valdarthost; would be brought to their doom. The deception of The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark," to bring about the unleashing of his terrible "Sath-Ninduru"… The dread, creeping "Night of Shadows Rising" was gathering pace.

Soon enough, would she face this so-called, nonsuch "Golden Child of The Light"... this Kathalyn Seregon; and, being supposed as the true Beshlie of Calverstock; she could then confound such design as would be emplaced for the Golden Child's impudent disdain in assail upon the Majesty of The Dark Lord. Kathalyn Seregon would be lured to her doom in some place where there could be no hope of deliverance from her entrapment.

Once this impudent wench was despatched; then, The Dark Lord would loose his dread, creeping "Night of Shadows Rising," and bring forth the onset of the Third Age of Darkness. Mindful of this; as this half-blood… this False Beshlie, rode for Rhom; she smiled… a smug, and malicious smile.

As the Chutak Horde drew ever closer to walls of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn, the trepidation that prowled amongst the 'prentice archers could be felt… as if t'were some wild beast slinking about some campaign encampment just beyond the circlings of light cast by the watchfires. Lokari regarded them with lenity; they had never loosed an arrow at 'aught else but his targets in the Halls of Tutelage. He remembered his early endeavours, when, as a youngling Algethi out of Elisriendell; Callam had called him to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere to embrace instruction in sky-riding the gryphons, and shooting crossbows whilst flying the same. He effected a wry grin… swiftly cloaked. Aye; he had stood where they did now. There would be no punition from him, if any made dither in loosing arrow.

As they gazed, beset with angst at the swarm of vermin coming onwards; suddenly, one of the 'prentices made point into the south. There; high in the skies were two dark specks making swift advance on the city. Severally, the seasoned archers swung their bows and laid aim upon this incurse. Lokari called them to stand off; he recognised the stand of these specks in the skies. T'were a pair of gryphons... and, skirmishing gryphons at that. Callam was riding in, to bring the youngling Guardian Kerrall… son of Lokari and Tahkaiia, out of harm's way. T'was, as-like, he had ridden out the four gryphons from Calverstock in respond to Cirion's Merlin-flown despatch, and standing two gryphons down at the Shandalar Citadel for the youngling Guardians, Serissea and Calahmir; had progressed on to the north in swift array.

As they beheld this most welcome espial, the gryphons sheered off to the east to gather distance from the Chutak Horde. When distantly beyond bowshot, they turned again, and came on to Khanlyn. Overflying the eastern wall, they made settle in the courtyard without the Manor. Lokari excused himself from the wall and made haste to greet his companion of old. As he entered into the courtyard, he beheld Tahkaiia and Gwythlyn settling Kerrall upon a gryphon. Callam was laying instruction of ride. Turning to Lokari, he bid hasty greetings saying;

'T'would seem you have your hands full, old friend. Fear not; we shall have the lad away into the west 'ere you have despatched, but one-half of these oncoming vermin.'

Mounting the waiting gryphon; who regarded Lokari with a steady, admonitory ruby gaze; he spoke again.

'Fare you well. I shall gather up the youngling Guardians: Serissea and Calahmir from the Citadel, and stand off for Calverstock. There, they shall be secure.'

And, with that; the two Skirmishing gryphons rose into the skies; riding out to easterly, thence turning into the south as they progressed away towards the Citadel of Shandalar.

Hastening back to the wall, Lokari beheld the Chutak Horde much closer now. They were coming on at a frightensome pace. He called for bows to be drawn. The seasoned archers held firm, but Lokari beheld the frightened countenances of a few of his 'prentices. They had never faced a true assault, and here was seen the prudence in emplacing them betwixt their elder companions. Even as Lokari watched; he beheld the archers laying their words of wisdom and knowing upon the 'prentices... heartening words, that all would stand well, if they held in steady remembrance, the tutelage they had embraced.

At something, a little beyond five-hundred cubits-distance; the Chutak Horde goaded their gruesome mounts into the ugly hurtling lope of the charge, and raised their terrible War-howl that washed down upon the walls of Khanlyn; shivering the blood of the defenders. Lokari watched the approach. This engagement needs-must be cunningly laid. He lifted his arm into the air; the archers raised bows and made full draw, making careful regard of Lokari from out the corner of their eyes. When his arm downswept, they would loose their arrows.

Lokari held; he needs-must lay presage of when the Horde would sunder. Onwardly they came; he yet held his arm aloft. Closer they came… and closer still. When the Horde stood off at, perhaps, four-hundred cubits-distance, Lokari's arm swept down, and the archers loosed as one.

A swarm of the vicious war-arrows thrummed away; whistling... as does wind in the treetops; and plunged down upon the Horde, skewering into their flesh. A great blossom of shriek and wail rolled forwardly against the walls of Khanlyn. Chutaks so smitten, made to wrench the arrows from out their wounds, yet beheld 'naught, but the naked shaft in their grasp. The tainted arrowheads which were affixed to such shafts with the blob of hard beeswax prevailed deep within their woundings, and in this, they were doomed to a dreadful fate. T'would be the same dreadful doom that had embraced The Mordbrood at Windlemoss when Thallian Beckstrider elected to pollute his arrowheads... the doom of the dreaded Green Rot.

This, as is previously told; is the most feared of all battlefield misfortunes, Eight times in ten; it is gifted by a polluted wounding. The fortunate, who fall victim to such wounding, perhaps… two times in ten, stand prevailed upon by clenching of teeth, as stern as a smithy's vice; and of an ague of raging fever. In the span of a Se'nnight, be he sturdy, the misfortunate one may well prevail.

It is not ever thus with the Green Rot. Here too, is the burning feverish ague, but there is no clenching of teeth, as stern as a smithy's vice. Here, at the first, is all about the wounding… a redness that pains with throb and swell, as like, a bee-sting. Then comes creeping about the wounding, the vile yellowness of hue, which slowly turns to a loathsome green, and lays forth a foul and retchworthy stench.

With this, comes the pain. A shrieking pain, as great swellings of foul wetness grow under the skin, which now turns black, and bursts asunder. The flesh dies and rots upon the bone, whilst yet, the victim lives. Slowly, the corruption creeps, laying forth the foulest stench until the victim perishes, embraced in the clutch of the most desperate, screaming agony. This then, is the Green Rot. The arrows of the Khanlyn archers; being stabbed into the troughs of common soil at their feet, would impose the same, grisly imposition upon the Chutaks.

'Ere, the first of the smitten Chutaks had pitched out of saddle; the second flight of arrows plunged amongst them. Again, they tumbled, shrieking and writhing upon the ground. Again, came the whistle, as if t'were wind in the treetops. The Chutak Horde-Masters; hearkening the whistle of the flight of skewering doom, screeched out the order for the Horde to scatter as the rain of arrows fell amongst them. Now; they distanced but one-hundred cubits hence, and ranged into the charge. Lokari called his archers to disburdened loosing; they might choose such targets as they would.

Now, the arrows thudded deep into Chutak flesh as the seasoned archers on the wall lay full draw to their powerful, double-curved, War bows; choosing their victims with infinite care. Still, the Horde charged the wall… then, without any hint of warning, the very ground yawned open beneath the pounding feet of their mounts. Here, was the binding entrapment of Khanlyn sprung about them. The Chutaks; in their hurtling charge, had not perceived the great ditch mantled over with branches and brushwood; mosses and earth. But now; as they tumbled therein, they perceived the sum of the whole.

The ditch was sprinkled with sharpened stakes, and drenched with all manner of stuff that would flame and burn. And more; to this brew was melded a dreadfulness that Tahkaiia had suggested. She had, in company with a chosen handful of defenders; progressed one of the burrows that wended from the tangled labyrinth of caverns and tunnels of the Halls of The Keeper of The Dread Imposition in their old Loki Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd; to the Overlight within the boundings of the Enchanted Girdle.

Deep within the mountainside, she gathered the curious white crystal that coated the walls where rain-spill water seeped. This; the remedy that the Lokis had licked to cure their hurts. She gathered too, the pungent and hand-staining yellowness that was to be found where the hot springs bubbled forth, deep in the belly of the Keeper's Halls. The sum of her endeavour; being some ten bushels of each of the same, was brought to Khanlyn, full-melded together, and cast down into the ditch.

As the Chutaks tumbled into the ditch, spitting themselves upon the sharpened stakes, Lokari made sign to his best skilled archers... who loosed flaming night-arrows down into the ditch. With a great rolling whoosh, the sum of stuff drenching the ditch took to flaming. Dreadful shriekings sprang forth as the ensnared Chutaks were turned into writhing torches, staggering about in the sea of fire. A great, foetid plume of black smoke rolled into the skies, stinging the eyes and offending the nose. Those Chutaks who were hindmost to the charge, milled about beyond the roaring flames, their charge broken; their advance confounded; as their mounts baulked and shied with lunging and rearing; toppling their riders and trampling them in their fright of the roaring flames before them.

Thus, was the first assault on Khanlyn rebutted. The dregs of the Chutak Horde dragged themselves in ragged decamp, back into the plain of Shandalar; there, to await the bolstering of their host with fresh Darkling vermin progressing from out of the ruination of Khallis. Without the walls of Khanlyn; the carcasses of the fallen Chutaks and their mounts were gathered and tumbled into the ditch which yet burned There were many; perhaps, close on ten and five-score of the smitten vermin, and one-quarter as many of their gruesome mounts to be cast into the flames. T'would be vexsome to keep the fires high 'till all were consumed, and the stink would offend the nose for close on the sum of passing of the new moon to its waning. This though, was sturdily needful, 'less the sprawl of so many bloating and festering carcasses without the walls might gather a pestilence upon the City.

Meantime; the dregs of the Chutak Horde languished in the south as they attended the coming of their bolstering forces. Many were afflicted with arrowheads 'bedded deep within their woundings. The Darklings marauded in lack of any manner of succour or 'pothick for their kind who were so smitten, and soon enough; the first manifestations of the dreaded Green Rot lay upon the most sorely afflicted in their company.

Here; in their dreadful adversity, was to be seen the sum of fellowship embraced by these vermin. Their afflicted were dragged to distance and forsaken to their doom... for; if they could not fight, then they were held fully in the expend; as it ever was with the Darklings. More; when the shrieks and screams of their smitten kin became vexsome; the Chutaks moved among them, despatching them without mercy.

Having rid themselves of this burden; the Chutaks settled in ill-humoured accord in attend of their bolstering host, and plotted their next assault upon the City. They attended for two moons whilst their victuals became slenderer yet. They attended in vain, for there would be no bolstering host.

The host they notioned would be riding to fatten their endeavour, lay all crushed and spattered beneath a mighty tumble of rocks in the belly of the Chasm of Alvigorm. Ten and seven Cohorts had ridden to the northerly reaches of the ruin of Khallis to seek passage into the Realm of Shandalar. As they progressed into the high Delvelands, they perceived a pathway that wound up into the mountains. Choosing to follow the same, they rode higher and higher 'till the pathway became a sturdy, wide ledge that traced the lie of the westerly cliff all along the Chasm of Alvigorm. Far distantly, they beheld an archway of rock that spanned the chasm... as if t'were a bridge. Here they could cross over. The arch was sturdy. There would be no imperilment, save for a single, impudent Thuvian sitting upon the stone bridge, as if in taunting defiance of them. He would make for fair victuallings.

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They were not to know that a slender fellowship of miners yet prevailed in the far north of Khallis. These deep-delvers had been far below ground in The Delve of the Vale of Findar when the Chutaks lay the settlements of the north to waste, and too; when the Khuzud-Mahin rode their last Berserk. At length; coming to the Overlight, these miners beheld the hacked Khuzud maids all despoiled and colloped by the Chutaks for campaign victuals. They elected, in their rage at this defilement of their warrior maids, to prosecute a befitting, and binding vengeance.

Knowing the Delvelands as well as they knew the lines upon their hands; and knowing that the Chutaks needs-must progress the Chasm of Alvigorm to accomplish the Realm of Shandalar; they elected to set their entrapment upon, and about the high ledge. They had espied the great plumes of smoke to the south, and hearkened to the deep, rumbling echo as Nalish Dorak, Engine-Master of Khallis, fired the Khallis Redoubt. In this, they complotted a dreadful avengement to be laid upon these gruesome butchers. They would undermine the ledge and the stone arch using all of their mining skills.

They would cut an "open stope"… the meaning to miners as being an underground working place that is not braced 'nor held up by timbers or pillars of rock. They would work this stope into the cliff-face below the ledge for half-a-league distant from the stone arch bridge. T'would be cunningly contrived; slighted in sum, yet sturdy enough to bear all the weight of the Chutak Host. At places specific, there would be emplaced panniers of the black powder crafted by the Alchemists of old Lord Filar, which made great crash and gouting of flame.

There were, secreted in a side chamber of The Great Delve of Findar; some twelve bushels of the same; used to rid the Delve of unassailable boulders that were sometimes found. There too, was a fair measure of the twine that was cunningly steeped by the Alchemists with a meld of ashes; the curious white, powdery crystal, that compassed the cavern walls in much abound, from where rain-spill water seeped; and the sweet, pale crystals that manifested when honey was boiled.

As aforesaid... when dry; the twine burned swiftly down its reach, once offered to a flame. The panniers would be garlanded, one to the other, with this twine, and fired when the Chutak host had progressed onto the slighted ledge. Embraced in the shuddery crash of the string of bursting panniers, t'was visioned that the whole ledge and bridge would shear away, and whirl the Chutaks down to their fulsomely warranted doom in the depths of the chasm.

The miners toiled for three full-moons in their endeavour whilst the Horde came up from the south. At length, the trap was complete. All that remained was to lay the panniers. In this, two of the miners were lost. They fell; by way of loosing their grip as they swung beneath the teetering ledge; their raw. and bleeding hands denying them firm hold to the spurs and clumpings of rock left emplaced under the ledge for just such purpose.

The miners drew lots as to which one would lay flame to the twine. He so chosen need stand in full reveal of the oncoming Horde as he laid the spark of their destruction. It was needful that this be accomplished in the middle reach of the stone arch, and t'was, as-like; he so chosen, would not be gifted time enough to repair across the bridge 'ere it tumbled into the chasm.

The elder miner; Meran Taldyrne, stood forth, laying tell that all his kin were slain, and he had a mind to join them in Seithynnor. He would fire the panniers, and would suffer neither bicker 'nor dispute in this matter.

His companions crossed the stone bridge and settled themselves in the mouth of a little cave to await the manifestation of the vengeance of Khallis. Meran Taldyrne sat upon the bridge in muse and ponder of things that had been, and of things that were now lost forever. He wandered in his remembrance of better days; of dalliances with Thuvian maids, and nights of flowing ale and bawdy jest; of the satisfaction of scouring out the riches of his land. His contemplation was breached of a sudden, by the harsh, coarse shouting in some vile, rasping tongue that echoed up the chasm. They were coming!

He drew forth the tinderbox and reached down to clasp the twine. Sitting upon the stone bridge, his legs swinging over the edge; he began to hum an old miners' drinking song. Closer came the clamour. There! They were coming along the ledge at a steady lope, and there were many of them. The lead riders were accomplishing the place where the undercut open stope began. A great howl came from the Host. They had spied him, and now they hastened pace.

As they came closer, he beheld their appearances. By Seithynnor! They were a gruesomely ugly crew! He struck a spark into the dry moss of the tinderbox. A little flame danced cheerily, and he touched it to the twine. The brightly glowing spark raced away down the twine, and Meran Taldyrne; Master Miner of Khallis watched it shimmer up under the ledge. 'Aye; now they would garner the tally of their wickedness. The first panniers to fire were emplaced at the far reaches of the stone bridge. For him, there would be no chance of escape.

Meran Taldyrne sat upon the arch, laughing 'till the tears rolled down his cheeks as the bridge of stone sundered, and he rode it down into the depths. Then, came the mighty crashes under the ledge. From end to end; for the span of close, half-a-league, the ledge sheared and tumbled from the cliff-face, bringing a mighty sum of the cliff face with it. The Chutak Host in full sum was whirled down into the depths of the chasm, some five-hundred cubits below. There, they were spurtled upon the rock-strewn floor and crushed by the tumble of the cliff-face that rained down upon them.

Meran Taldyrne would indeed, sit in the Halls of Seithynnor; the Afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes with his forebears; feasting forever, upon red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer, whilst they all boasted their prowess at War. But Meran Taldyrne could boast of how he brought ten, and seven Cohorts of Chutak vermin to their doom in the Chasm of Alvigorm. 'Aye; such an advantage were worthy of the reckoning.

In Rhom; Kathalyn Seregon, Chosen Daughter of The Light; in company with the companions of the Guardians of The Light, stood in the Great Throne-room before the wondrous image of the beautiful woman, carven in purest white marble; that had been brought from the concealed chamber in the bowels of the Palace and emplaced in the Throne-room of Rhom betwixt the Thrones of Tristan and Talith. This was the image that bore the great charger upon which lay the great, golden, Amber-pommelled sword; The Great Defender of The Light; "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth;" and too; the second sword... "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning"; pommelled with the dark Amber wherein… far down in its pellucid heart, there blazed a spark… a flare of perfect Amber fire.

She gazed in awe at the mighty sword, "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." The Great Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi; ruined and blighted by the hand of the barbarian Galdors in far distant Astalan; The Sword now fettled anew by Elshore; once Master Sword-Smith of Calverstock... now; Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower. "Amrun Tarsi"…The Star-Sword to be settled upon the second Chosen Daughter of The Light: Beshlie of Calverstock; Mistress of The Riders of Lothleitha.

Kathalyn Seregon stood before the statue and marvelled at the crafting... of the Artisans who had fashioned this clumping of raw marble into this wondrousness as was imagined to be the likeness in image of The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." Kathalyn Seregon stepped forwardly to take up the great, golden sword; then… she did not. The wondrous image of the beautiful woman, carven in purest white marble, began to glow; softly at the first... then gathering brightness, 'till a gentle, golden light washed all about the Throne-room of the Palace of Rhom. All there beheld; open of mouth and wide of eye, as the golden brightness all drifting about the marble image, gathered form. The brightness faded, and there stood a peerlessly beautiful maiden. She was golden-haired, and her eyes were a perfect, forget-me-not blue.

All there beheld the gasp of Elshore. This was the same maiden who had come to him in the Calverstock forge as he fettled the Guardian swords. In blurt; his words tumbled out;

'Menelwen; you are Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars.'

The maid smiled; a gentle smile.

'Aye, Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower; I am the same.'

In the face of this reveal; there fell about the Throne-room; a silence of such measure as might be cut with a blade. The shining, golden-haired Menelwen stepped forward to Kathalyn Seregon; holding forth the charger whereon the swords lay, and spoke softly,

'Come; Golden Child. Stand to me now, and take up this bestowal of your Destiny; The Mighty Defender of The Light; "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth"; for t'was foretold, before ever you were conceived, that this is your true birthright.'

Kathalyn Seregon took the great golden sword in her hand, and lifted the same from the charger whereon it lay. As she so did; the great, flawless gem of Amber set in its pommel flamed like some infant sun in the first moments of its birthing. She lifted the sword easily; as if it bore no weight at all… though warriors-grown, had made sturdy endeavour to accomplish the same and had been found wanting.

There had been, but one other who had taken The Mighty Defender of The Light; "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" to hand with the ease of lifting a flight feather of a Wood-pigeon. That other was "The Chosen One"… little Caron: stable-groom maid of Shandalar; later, Mistress of Horse to The Ice Queen Cirion; who had laid to waste, the might of The Mordbrood of Valdarthost at the battle of Rhyddu.

Kathalyn Seregon unsheathed the great sword, and held it aloft. Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars lay the charger aside and outstretched her hands; setting them upon the shoulders of Kathalyn, saying…

'Enfold about yourself now, the espousal of The Grace of Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." For now; you are fully embraced in the Dreaming of The Great Mother.'

As she so spoke; the soft, golden radiance begirding Menelwen… Keeper of The Stars, crept down her arms and encircled Kathalyn Seregon; whose shimmery greenish-blue eyes… the hue of a pheasant's throat on a fair summer's day; shone golden… as had the eyes of the other chosen maid… little Caron of Shandalar, in times now distantly passed. The blade of "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" blazed; the same golden brightness as it had so done at the battle of Rhyddu. Menelwen lifted away her hands, and the golden radiance faded from about Kathalyn. The golden light in her eyes faded, and once more, they were the shimmery, greenish-blue. The Keeper of The Stars spoke,

'It is done. Behold now, the Bonding of Destiny. The Mighty Defender of The Light, "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" is fully bonded to her Mistress. My time here is done. I shall come again when the second Chosen Daughter of The Light; Beshlie of Calverstock, comes to this place to take up the mighty Star-Sword "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." May all here be forever embraced in the Dreaming of The Great Mother.'

Menelwen; "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars, took up the charger upon which now lay the single sword: "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning," and made gentle backwards step to a place betwixt the two Thrones. A great brilliance of golden light encompassed her; enough and more to cause all those there, to turn gaze away and lift hand to guard their eyes. When the brilliance had waned enough to look once more; all that stood betwixt the Thrones was, as ever; the wondrous image of the beautiful woman, carven in purest white marble, bearing the great charger upon which lay the single sword "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning," secure in its glittering black Adamaunte scabbard... a scabbard garlanded about its throat with a twining of golden Lothluthil Rowan leaves; and beset down its reach with three Amber gems; carved in the round, and polished to perfection of sheen. These Ambers were not the fiery orange, as were common Ambers; these gems held a much darker hue… near hazel-nut brown. In the light of the great, hanging candle frames; far down in their pellucid hearts, there blazed a spark… a flare of perfect Amber fire.

For a little while, no word was dropped in the Throne-room. All stared, with wondering gaze, at the marble statue. They had not known what they might suppose would manifest when Kathalyn Seregon came to take up her birthright. They had supposed they would encounter something… there was always something that was beyond the realms of commonplace when a Guardian of The Light embraced sword at the first; but none had prevised that this embrace of blade would be such a differentness. Their espousal of dumbfound was breached by the sound of Kathalyn slipping the Mighty Defender of The Light; "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" to her sleeping in the golden scabbard... a soft, glissing sound that started them from their contemplation of that, which had gone before. Kathalyn made turn to her father, Eldamar, and, with curious gaze, spoke;

'My Lord; what then, is this espousal of The Grace of Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being?" What does this thing mean?'

Eldamar smiled softly;

'It means, Granddaughter mine; that The High Goddess Elaiana has embraced you into The Light. She has chosen you as her Champion; "The Chosen One," who will do battle for Her rights and honour. She has chosen that you shall hew down the Might of The Darkness when comes the dawning of "The End of the Shining Days." It is your destiny that you shall, one day, ride out with your sister Chosen Daughter of The Light… Beshlie of Calverstock; and bring the destruction of The Darkness down upon the Dark Lord's head.'

The Half-blood female... the False Beshlie; was riding the plains of Amriath far to the north. In furtherance of her decamp from Arlanronde in seek of The Golden Child; she had elected to ride this passage so that she might progress unto Rhom with small chance of encountering any who might uncloak her deceit. There were few trackways this far to the north. She had accomplished ride of perhaps, a score of leagues to north of the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere when she espied them. Three riders coming on at far distance. She drew her mount into the edge of the great forest greening and attended their approach. Closer they came. She beheld that they were troopers... as like; a border patrol from out of Rhom. They would suit her purpose to singular advantage.

She attended their approach within the cloak of the greening 'till they were close enough to hearken to the sly wile with which she had chosen to ensnare them complete. She made dismount and walked to a sturdy oak. This would pain her sturdily... but, not as much as if she were of pure blood. Girding herself, she made a vicious swing of her hip into the trunk of the oak.

With a retchworthy crack, her thigh bone sprang from the embrace of her hip bone. Her scream echoed the greening; the troopers could not fail to hearken to the same. Raising herself up in hobble upon her sound leg, she laid slap of hand upon the flank of her mount and sent him cantering out of the greening into full view of the troopers. As she had contrived; the troopers turned towards wherefrom the horse had appeared. They had hearkened to the scream and came on swiftly, to prospect the cause.

The False Beshlie settled herself into a crooked, and crumpled lie; casting whimpers, and little squeals of pain to entice them to where she lay. The troopers came on, and beheld the maid in sprawl upon the ground. She effected little whimpers of pain, a pale and ghostly countenance; and the tears tumbled her cheeks. One of the troopers gasped;

'T'is Mistress Beshlie. What then, has befallen you, my Lady?'

The False Beshlie swiftly cloaked a smirk in manner of grimace of pain. These troopers must be out of Calverstock to know her thus; for she was not well known in Rhom. She could not have wished for fairer prey. She whimpered;

'My mount was startled by a viper in lurk, and shied away, unhorsing me. I cannot move my leg, and I am sorely pained. Mayhap, t'is sundered in the bone.'

The elder of the troopers came to her and gently laid hand upon her supposed, sundered leg. She squealed in pain, and effected a close- swooning away. The trooper gazed at her; his eyes full of concernment.

'Nay Mistress Beshlie; t'is not sundered. T'is more like wrenched out from its true settlement'

He turned to the youngest of the troopers; saying…

'Attend you here; The Mistress may not be moved; being afflicted thus, as she doubtless is. We shall ride in all haste to Calverstock and bring forth a waggon into which she might be laid for bringing her to the 'pothicks, for we may not settle her hurt here.'

The young trooper nodded, and knelt with the maid as his comrades rode away. He gazed at her; his eyes filled with innocent worry and concern; then, he spoke consolingly;

'Is 'aught I might effect to furnish you some comfort, My Lady?'

Through her tears, she whispered,

'Aye; 'an you would… brush my hair from out of my eyes. It sorely pains me to even lift an arm to accomplish the same.'

The young trooper, who had knelt beside her all the while; reached out to effect the same. He saw her eyes were dark pools of what he imagined was pain. As his fingers gently touched her brow, she struck. He saw, 'nor imagined 'aught; there was no defence he might employ. The thin, black Karuk dagger she had concealed, viciously stabbed up under his chin to full blade reach.

He made not a sound, though his eyes were wide with surprise. She held him upon the blade until the surprise faded from his eyes and he was dead. Then, she hauled him aside, still spitted upon the blade, so his blood would not spurtingly taint his livery.

From the cloak of the greening, she watched with cold gaze, as the two companion troopers rode distantly into the southerly-east. When she adjudged they were far enough distant as to be out of earshot, she hobbled to the great oak, and stood, with her back to the same. She gathered her resolve about herself, and with a swift twist of her waist, she backwardly smote her spoiled hip ferociously against the trunk. Once more, came the retchworthy crack, and she screamed in pain. Her thighbone grated itself back into its true placement, and she made slump against the oak as the billows of retch washed over her.

A little later, when she had calmed the throbbing in her belly and hip, she turned to the young trooper. Mindful of not laying meddle to her Karuk blade thrust up under his chin, for fear of seeping his blood upon his tunic; she began to strip him of his garb. As he lay naked before her, she appraised his firm, finely muscled, young body. Alas; such a waste; yet, t'was needful for her design. She stripped herself of riding habit and attired herself in his livery; having bound her bosom about with windings of fabrick sundered from her cambrick chemise, so that no pert swelling would confound the lie that she was 'naught, but a common trooper.

But, what of the young trooper? She elected that she would drag him deeper into the underwood and hide him therein. T'was as like, that his comrades would winnow this place to seek him out. She pondered awhile, and embraced an evil resolve. She would collop him; as if, his slaying were prosecuted by Chutaks.

His comrades would, 'an they stumbled upon his ruined carcass; suppose that he had been waylaid by a band of these marauding vermin. The wench might be anywhere. Perhaps, she had secured an elude; albeit, with her spoiled leg… t'was, as like, a forlorn hope. Nonetheless; were no corpse to be found; then the raising of the hue and cry would be hindered. Time enough to ride for Rhom and perhaps, confound the progression of this "Golden Child."

As she set the War-helm upon her head, she smirked at this cunning deceit. These common troopers were no match for the malevolent, labyrinthine intrigues of the Dominion of The Darkness. These impudent Algethi who dared to decry the Majesty of The Dark Lord, would, soon enough, be swept away with the singular ease that fly droppings are brushed from off a casement ledge. Savouring this notion, the False Beshlie mounted her victim's horse and galloped away to easterly, to accomplish the last few leagues down unto Rhom.

The sun was lowering in the western skies as she came in from the northerly-west, as if in return from the northern borders of Lorenfalu. No challenge was thrown as she made steady trot in through the great gates of Rhom. No challenge was offered as she rode the streets in casual accord, towards the Palace. Indeed, as she progressed the cobbled streets, she chanced upon a body of troopers bound for their favoured tavern, who called for her to meet there with them. She effected the voice of a trooper with throat beset with dust of ride; saying that they should stand a pot of ale on hand, for the mount need be stabled at the first. This respond elicited coarse asides that, 'an, the trooper dallied with his mount; the pot would be quaffed, the comely sluts engaged; and the only ride he would as like, secure that night, would be the one upon which he now sat. With much mirth and bawdy jest, the troopers bade their supposed comrade not to tarry, 'else, 'ere he joined them; all in remain for his pleasure would be the aged, and pocky drabs.

The Palace loomed before her in the gathering twilight. She rode into the muster yard and was met by the Cavalry Ostler. Handing over the mount, she progressed, as if, to the Garrison quarters; but once beyond sighting; she slipped unseen into the Palace. Were she challenged within, t'would be no imposition. She was attired in the full livery of one of the Lord Tristan's Cavalry troop. Warily, she made her way towards the Throne-room. Softly, she made approach the great doors. Casting backwards glance down the long gallery, she beheld neither movement nor person. She edged the doors asunder in puny measure and peeked within. The Throne-room was empty. Slipping within, she made resolute stride towards the raised stand whereon the two Thrones and the marble statue were emplaced.

Standing before the statue of the beautiful woman, carven in purest white marble; who bore the great charger whereon lay the black scabbarded sword; she was vexed to perceive there was, but the one sword upon the charger. The Golden Child must have taken the golden sword into her possession. No matter; the losing of this sword in remain, would lay a sturdy meddle.

The False Beshlie laid hands upon the sword to raise it into her keeping. She could not move it a hair's span. It clung to the charger in manner of a 'pothick's leech clinging to one who is being bled. No matter how much she exerted her endeavour, the sword stubbornly refuted her assay. Then... Hark! voices without!

Swiftly, the False Beshlie secreted herself behind the wall hangings as Tristan and his Chancellor came into the Throne-room. She perceived that Tristan was girded with his mighty Sword of The Light: "Dagnorath"… "Bane of Black Terror." She perceived too, that the great, pommelled Topaz slept, and betrayed no flare. She was secure from espial. She need but attend their bandy 'till they were done; and when they had retired, she could slip out of the Palace in manner the same as she had entered. She was though, fulsomely vexed in the matter of her ruined endeavour. Needs must, she would plot more prudently; for the Sword was cognisant of her false standing. Perhaps, she should lay her intent at The Golden Child, herself; rather than at the sword.

The Ostle-Master of the Shandalar Citadel stood in the muster yard in wary oversee of the two skirmishing gryphons. He had attended them now, for a little above the passing of two Sundial shadow spans; and all the while, they had regarded him with their unblinking, ruby gaze. These gryphons; being two of the four flown in by Callam from Calverstock at the behest of the Merlin-flown despatch of Queen Cirion, to deliver the youngling Guardians safe into the west; worried him. Callam had laid down these two at Shandalar for the Princess Serissea and her brother, Prince Calahmir; and had flown the third and fourth gryphons onwards into the north to bring forth Kerrall… son of Lokari and Tahkaiia; from out of the Shire seat of Khanlyn.

As the Ostle-master watched the gryphons with chary regard, he embraced sturdy hope that Callam would not beset his return with squander in passing; for the gryphons were restless; and he held small taste to acquaint himself with their Leissor talon-sheathings. As he pondered this; there came a cry from the sentinel on the northern wall. Two specks were coming on swiftly from beyond the Great Henge of Dromnmhor... a little above two leagues distant. The Ostle-Master breathed a great, heartsome sigh of relief; this would be Callam in the return with the youngling Guardian, Kerrall.

The two gryphons came on; lowering their stand in the skies, to settle without the Citadel gates. Callam and Kerrall made dismount and led their gryphons within; passing the reins to the Under-Ostlers. Crossing the muster yard, they were met by Cirion, who came forth from out of the Citadel in company with Princess Serissea and her brother, Prince Calahmir.

Both were garbed in Shandalar Cavalry armour; the like of which did 'naught to cloak the pleasing figure of Serissea; being in embrace of seven, and ten summers, and the true likeness of her mother. Serissea stood in receipt of something above three, and three-quarter cubits; all tumbling gold hair, and great, pale-blue, Agate eyes. Calahmir favoured his father, Lorimer. He was tall; sturdy-shouldered; and in receipt of hair being a darker hue than that of his sister. But, his eyes were the same... pale, summer-sky blue Agate.

Cirion laid solemn questioning to Callam. How stood Khanlyn? For she had perceived the rolling black smoke to the north. Callam made respond. He had watched beyond his shoulder as the gryphons rose out and away to the south. He had seen the Chutak vermin laying assault. He had watched, as the flame pit entrapment had been fired. The smoke there seen was not the fall of Khanlyn. 'Nay; t'were the laying to waste of the Chutak assault.

As Callam laid the sum of Tell upon Cirion, Ice Queen of Shandalar; distantly to the southerly west, a lone rider skirted the very reaches of the wastelands of Khallis, unseen, and unfound. To an indolent glance, the rider would be seen to be a trooper; but this was far from the truthing. The rider was the False Beshlie; confounded in her endeavour of meddle with The Oneness of The Light, and seeking out some covert refuge where she might devise her next intrigue. As she progressed the wastelands of Khallis, she plotted; beset with vexation at her singular foundering of purpose in carrying off the Sword of The Light from out of the Rhom Palace Throne-room.

Here, from the edge of the wastelands; as far as the eye might be laid, was a desolation of yellow and ochre, of brown and of grey... the wastelands of Khallis; a great, silent span of hollows and ash piles; mounds of ancient mining spoil, and great heaps of rusting slag from the furnaces of Khallis; stretching some thirty-leagues north to the Khallis Redoubt. In the distance, she beheld the place she was seeking out. With the sinister foresight endued by her Dark side, she knew this was the old Inn where the Thuvians who had once toiled in the wastelands, had washed the dust from their throats in sturdy quaffing of ale. Now, since the wastelands were forsaken; it was a shambly, sad place. Few journeyed this way; and those who did… were, as-like, to be vagabonds and n'ere-do-wells. Such trade as this faded hostelry garnered, was, as like, nine times in ten; to settle their scores with pilfered riches.

This faded hostelry was by name: "The Raven." A rude-painted, dust-scoured sign effecting the same,swung creakingly in the ceaseless wind that whimpered across the wastelands. 'Aye; t'would do well enough. She turned her mount into the yard of the Inn. The clatter of hoof upon the cobbles raised no ostler. She attended awhile, then set finger to lip and accomplished a sharp whistle. This brought forth a scurvy hulking fellow; who stood before her, peering up at this trooper who had doubtless disturbed his torpid slumber. He cast an insolent stare at this singleton trooper; who, watching him with cold, dark eyes, spoke;

'I have a horse that is in need of a stall. If, t'is all one with you; you might accomplish the same?'

He stared up at the trooper.

'Aye; I can attend you there, Master,'

His eyes were on the saddle panniers, weighing their worth. The trooper followed his gaze, and rested hand upon hilt of sabre.

'Then you may relieve him of the weight of one saddle and a pair of panniers; but, be heedful; the weight therein is of victuals, should you choose to prospect the content. 'An you be wise; there they shall remain.'

Then turning, the trooper strode to the door of the Inn.

Entering therein, the False Beshlie cast gaze about the taproom. T'was scarce-lofty enough to turn about in, without knocking head upon the grimy lintel, and compassed reach that would not defy spitting across. By the hearth, a pair of shifty coves amused themselves in clamorous frolic with their doxies. On t'other side; a small Algethi with eyes not to be trusted sat in company of another… a hulking brute with a pocky face and the pale, yellow eyes of a half-breed. The small Algethi nudged the half-breed;

'Look you here at what we have... a fair, and purty trooper. Wouldst stand a round, Dearie?'

The False Beshlie faced the pair. Here was trouble... and small doubting as to that. She effected the trooper voice…

'Nay; I think not. The Rhom cavalry does not sup with scum,'

And turned to the Innkeeper.

Out of the corner of her eye, she beheld the hulking brute rise from his stool and come at her back. He came on, just as she deemed that he would; in manner of some seasoned, taproom brawler… all couched head and grasping arms. When he was upon her; she swiftly turned about, grasped her hands about his nape of neck; wrenched his head down, and effected a mighty upthrust of her knee into his face.

She felt his nose burst asunder upon her knee as if t'were an over-ripe peach; and then he was reeling backwards; blood bespattered from chin to temples. She glimpsed the small Algethi's hand thrust within his tunic, and knew it would clasp a blade when it came forth. But, his hand never came forth; t'would be singularly foolish for it so to do, with the point of a cavalry sabre pricking at his throat. She gazed at the pair; her eyes, as cold as ice.

'An you are done with your sport; might I then secure a chamber from our host? Or is there more to be had of you?'

She elicited no reply. Both skulked back into the corner from whence they came. Turning to the Innkeeper, she commanded a chamber. T'was, as like, there would be no more than three, or four chambers abovestairs; none being ample enough to de-boot, 'nor cast off garments 'less perch be made upon the truckle cot that served as a bed. She laid no require of span in passing for the same, but no matter; for t'was decreed that troopers were set no tally 'nor score for their lodgings and victuals in such places. As she stood at the foot of the stairway, she turned again to the two in the corner.

'An you have a mind to settle this bicker in the dark of the night; you would be well advised that I embrace a modest depth of slumber.'

And turning upon her heel, she progressed abovestairs to the chamber.