Chapter Nine.

The Ambuscade in Fairbeech Hollow.

Callam led the gryphon flight down through the Shandalar plain; embracing a drift to southerly-east that would bring them into the High Pass of Ling across the towering scarp of the great gorge, at a lie somewhere betwixt the great Redoubts of Striding Edge and Khallis. As they progressed the far westerly prospect of Ling Beckside, there; distantly to their right-most hand, they beheld the smitten Khallis Citadel; the defensive catapults broken and toppled… as if, they were some playthings cast down by a wilful youngling. All about this ruined Realm, the land was silent and empty; and there! Further to the east; the Pavilion of Silence... now 'naught, but a tumble of sundered white marble that glittered in the sunlight, and was beset with wheeling carrion birds that feasted upon the shredded and tattered remains of the Chutaks hewn down by the whirling splinters of marble that burst forth as Thoris Barandor; Lord of Clan Buhrodar, had fired the charges of Black powder in the bowels of the Pavilion.

A pair of leagues further to the south, they overflew the destruction that had once been the mighty Khallis Redoubt. Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis, had succeeded beyond his wildest aspirations in his resolve to deny the marauding Chutak Horde that had seethed and swelled in assault without the Redoubt; free passage into the High Pass of Ling. When all was lost, he had fired the charges of the black powder laid about the principal footings of the Redoubt to drop the sum of the whole into the Defile of Khallis. This; he had accomplished in most singular accord; and more... much more. As the edifice of the Redoubt had crashed down; so then too, had a mighty sum of the Khallis scarp toppled, in crashing tumble, down upon the ruin of the edifice. Now; there lay a great, slumped span across the scarp; in measure beyond three-score cubits reach, and some thirty-cubits in deeping. The whole of the topple lay, as a tumbled slew of shattered stone; denying passage through the Khallis Defile in full sum. And... 'neath the ruin there lay close on half-a-hundred festering Chutak carcasses; all spattered and crushed by the tumble of the scarp, as they had laid assail upon the great northern gates of the Redoubt.

The youngling Guardians stared, wide of eye, at the desolation below. They knew 'naught of the dross of War. They held the bright imagine of Heroes and of Battles simple... as did all younglings unlettered in the same. But now; they saw the true harvest and fell silent, in their ponder and muse. None spoke again, 'till they were out over the wastelands of Khallis. First to venture word was the Princess Serissea. Easing her gryphon closer in to Callam, she spoke; her countenance pale, and her eyes wide with anxiousness...

'Callam, is it always like this? All laid to waste, and silent as the tomb? Are all the Thuvians of Khallis truly lost?'

Callam gazed at her. How might he lay the Tell of the wanton destruction of a whole Realm? How might he apprise her of the reckless hatred embraced by the foe she would soon enough, have need to face? T'would not be wise to set to her imagine, the prowl and slink of fear. And so; he answered her thus:

'In War; t'is never the same. That which you perceived below might never again manifest to your gaze. Each assail is a singularity to itself, and none other. There is, but one resolve that you should embrace as truth. That resolve is; that you are your mother's daughter. You are a Guardian of The Light, and thus, are embraced in the Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." A Sword of The Light is to be settled upon you. Thus; you shall become as One with The Light; and in this, you shall prevail against The Darkness.'

Serissea regarded Callam as he spoke of these things. He saw that her anxiousness was not fully assuaged by this respond specific to her elicitation. The youngling Guardians; Calahmir and Kerrall though, held no such humour. This was adventure; this was promise of bold derring-do. Callam hearkened to their brave banter, and favoured himself a thin smile beset with wryness. 'Aye; he had held humour, much the same, when he was of such span of summers as were they. They would learn; but t'was, as- like, their learning needs must be swift.

As they flew deeper into the southerly west, it was not for their knowing that they were watched by the cold gaze of eyes as black as the blackest of nights. Distantly, to the northerly west; from the begrimed, and flaking casement of the dismal chamber abovestairs of the shabby taproom of the faded Inn that they called "The Raven"; the False Beshlie beheld the flight of the four gryphons as they progressed the wastelands. She adjudged they were bound for Calverstock. So; they were bringing the youngling Guardians into the west; away from the peril of the Chutaks. T'was, as like, that the "Golden Child" would too, be secure within the Garrison with her companions. Soon enough, they would ride out when the "End of The Shining Days," as these half-witted Algethi would have it called; came to passing.

She nodded in contentment. They were unlettered in the intrigues of her Dark intrigues. T'would be little, or no imposition to disjoin this "Golden Child" from her novice companions. With guile, she could be enticed away, believing that the half-blood was indeed, the true Beshlie of Calverstock; and in some lonesome, and secluded place, this upstart thorn in the side of the Dark Lord's design could be despatched out of hand. The False Beshlie granted herself a smile beset with smugness at the subtle pretence of this plot she now hatched, as her malevolent black gaze followed the swiftly diminishing gryphons, as they overflew the furthest reaches of the wastelands of Khallis.

Here though; should be laid a lesson that would be most singularly prudent to embrace. No matter how cunningly a plot may be laid; always, there is always the chance that the intrigue might be meddled. and, so it was; with the plot of the False Beshlie. As she stepped from her chamber she was faced with the two scurvy blackguards whom she had bested in the taproom, two-moons since passed. They stood at the stair-head, denying her passage belowstairs. Perceiving that the "trooper" wore no sword; the small one with the untrustworthy eyes bestowed upon her an evil smile. Drawing forth a vicious, slender dagger, he hissed,

'There is unfinished business betwixt us, Whoreson.'

The hulk beside him snorted disrelishingly through his ruined nose.

'Let me snap his spine; then you may stick him as you will.'

The small one laughed, evilly;

'Aye; t'is a fair requital... go to it then.'

The great brute lumbered forward at his seemingly unarmed quarry. As he laid his great hands upon the trooper; intent on lifting his victim up to break him across his knee; suddenly... as if, from out of thin air; there appeared a long, black, slender dagger in the False Beshlie's hand. Close, faster than the eye might follow, she plunged the dagger into her assailant's throat with such force that the tip of the blade stabbed forth from out of the nape of the brute's neck. She beheld the stare of complete surprise in his eyes as he made retching gurgle upon the blade. She held him skewered upon the Karuk blade, and watched, with her black, depthless stare, as his pale, yellow eyes became dim and sightless. Then; she pulled out the dagger and let him crash, lifelessly to the floor, where his blood spurted and gushed; staining the rude, rough-hewn planks that served as floorboards in this place.

She turned to the small companion; the Karuk dagger dripping blackish-redly in her hand. He would be the more dangerous of the pair. He had stood apart, whilst his tame ruffian had sallied forth in his stead. Now, he snarled in his fury and lunged with his dagger. As he did so; in his ire, he neglected to progress his sureness of footing. His boot slipped upon the splashing gore of his companion which pooled the planking in sturdy measure. As he made lurch with his balance awry; his blade-thrust struck aside from off her trooper armouring; leaving ,naught but a deep scoring in the tough leather. For the span of a heartbeat, his guard was forfeit; but the span of a heartbeat was enough.

The False Beshlie drove the dreadful, black Karuk blade into his belly, and up under his ribs. As he squealed and writhed, she gazed into his bulging, pain-swimming eyes and spoke softly,

'Wouldst choose to style me "Whoreson" once again, Sirrah?... 'Nay; I thought not.'

Then, with a slow, lingering twist of the blade, she pulled the dagger from out of his quivering flesh; dropping him to the floor where he writhed, and squealed, and whimpered beside his companion.

She bent, and wiped the gore from off her blade upon the scurvy shirt of the carcass of the larger of the two; then turning; gathered her sword from the dismal chamber, and came belowstairs to the taproom. The Innkeeper was within the pot-room. She called forth that she was removing herself from his cordial company; and that mention would be made of his hospitality. He called some incurious respond, but he came not forth, being wholly engaged in some Inn-keeping business.

Repairing to the stall where her mount was quartered; she beheld no sign of the scurvy, hulking fellow she had met when she first came to the Inn. Her mount though, had been well tended; her saddle and panniers were in the corner, secure and unmolested. Swiftly, she saddled her mount; then swinging into the saddle; rode out of the cobbled yard and turned to northerly-east, to ride the far boundings of the wastelands in seek of some other place she could lie low; for word of the slaying at the Inn would soon enough, be carried abroad; and the hue and cry would be raised. Any lone rider thereabouts would be deemed suspect. As she rode away, the rude-painted, dust-scoured sign of "The Raven" Inn creaked its farewell as it swung in the ceaseless wind that ever whimpered across the wastelands.

Where might she seek out some covert refuge? T'would be a foolishness to prospect the western reaches. The Forest of Elisriendell lay close; outspreading its deep greening in a great smother from the north into the west. Further; the true Beshlie of Calverstock rode this greening with the Riders of Lothleitha, and the prospect of espial was plainly laid. To the east lay The Delvlings. Here too, was the chance of being happened upon in her intrigue. The Delvlings were ever a'bustle with the to-ings and fro-ings betwixt Calverstock and Rhom. So; she needs-must ride for the ambit of hills that lay at the lower westerly reaches of the Gorge of Khallis.

In these hills, she might accomplish a passage wherethough she could ingress the ruined Thuvian Realm. Here, there would be some place that she could bide unseen and unfound; for none would venture therein… there was no purpose for them so to do. Khallis lay, as a dead, and desolate land. T'was 'nigh perfect for her ambition; for in this ruined Realm there would be victuals a'plenty. Khallis would be a sanctuary where she might remain 'till the dawning of "The End of the Shining Days" came to passing. Only then, would she ride out and engage this "Golden Child." Only then, would the awful truth of their foredoom be laid before these contumelious, and arrogant Algethi. The Nemesis of The Dark Lord would be upon them, and all vestiges of those who stood for The Light would be swept away at the rising of The Third Age of Darkness.

So intent was she with her relish of scheme and connive; she did not behold the great eagle wheeling high in the skies above her. It made glide and drift on silent, wide-spread wings; heedful that it did not emplace itself betwixt the sun and the rider below. In this, there would be no chance-flit of shadow to lay a reveal of its covert scrutiny from on high. The eagle attended her progress for a little above span of a quarter Sundial-shadow. The rider did not stray from line of ride. Content in this intelligence; the eagle laid down a great wing and turned into the south; bound away for Calverstock.

As the False Beshlie rode on; spinning in her thoughts, the web of malefic intrigue into which she would ensnare this "Golden Child"… this Kathalyn Seregon; distantly to southerly-west, the youngling Guardians had achieved the safe haven of the Garrison of Calverstock. They were bid welcome by Staisha and sheltered in the shielded upper chambers of the Manor-Hall. As the gryphons had settled in the common ground within the palisade, Staisha beheld Calelindi at distance; prowling back and forth, and watching the skies to the north. With the youngling Guardians allayed with food and drink; she made recur to the common ground without, and waylaid Calelindi's troubled prowl. Laying hand upon her shoulder, Staisha spoke.

'What is it that besets you so, with disquietude, sister?'

She beheld the aspect of fretfulness in the soft, brown eyes of Calelindi, and knew there was something very wrong; for Calelindi was endowed with The Seeing. Casting a fresh gaze into the north, Calelindi spoke, 'nigh on, as an aside… her eyes never forsaking the northerly tree line of The Delvlings;

'I have presage of some being in malignant lurk to the north. The presage is sturdy and frightensome. Whatever it might be; it means us sinister, and dire misfortune. I have flown out my eagle to elicit this direful entity; but, in truth; I am very a'feared of what he might lay to our knowing of what is out there in the wastelands.'

Staisha made endeavour to calm Calelindi, though she knew well that the Enchantress of Calverstock was rarely unsound in her envisioning. She spoke, soothingly;

'Calm yourself, sister; we are as secure as we ever might be in this place. We are beset with a sturdy palisade, and the youngling Guardians are secure.'

Calelindi stared hard at Staisha;

'Not all; My Lady; not all. Kathalyn and Beshlie are not here. Kathalyn is in Rhom, and Beshlie rides as Mistress of The Riders of Lothleitha in the far deepings of the Forest of Elisriendell. Then, there is Tharlan; soon to be bound away from here, for distant Arlanronde. It is my fear that The Darkness will strive to take one or the other… or all. Perhaps, this dreadful presage lays the Tell of the same.'

Staisha nodded;

'Aye; t'is true that they are yet apart from their Guardian companions. Nonetheless, assuage your anxiousness with this: They are secure enough. Kathalyn is situate in Rhom, compassed about by the great Curtain wall, and beset by Tristan's forces. Tharlan lies here, at Calverstock and soon enough, will be safe; compassed about by the stronghold walls of Arlanronde, which, in their turn are bolstered by the enchanted girdle that Torbair has thrown about the Great Hall. And more; he will be protected by a half-Cohort of the Lord Laumil's Elisriendell Range-Masters. Beshlie has the protection of the Riders of Lothleitha besetting her about. Come now, sister; does this knowing not allay your angst?'

She studied Calelindi, who nodded her accord with Staisha's Tell. But, in her eyes, Staisha could read plain that Calelindi was feigning 'naught but a pretence. As she turned, in repairing to the Manor Hall; taking leave of Calelindi, who yet prowled the common ground in anxious array; suddenly, the great eagle swept in over the treetops from the north. Staisha made pause of stride, and beheld the eagle drift down with wings and tail feathers widespread as it cast off pace to alight upon Calelindi's outstretched arm. It folded wing, and laying its head towards her, made commune in some tongue quite unknown to Staisha.

She beheld the aspect of concern that embraced Calelindi, and began to step towards her. The eagle turned its head to watch her approach, then laid a sturdy hiss, as if, to warn her away. Staisha stayed her stride. This was a singularly plain advise that she should not venture forth 'till the intelligence was laid in full sum. The eagle turned again and took up the Tell.

At length; the eagle took flight; away to its chosen Eyrie which lay somewhere up on the heights of Calverstock Gill. Calelindi came forward; her face was beset with a disconcerted frown. Clasping Staisha's arm, her soft, brown eyes troubled; she spoke; almost as a whisper, so as she would not be hearkened by chance, by those who progressed the common ground close by.

'T'is as I feared. He has espied a lonesome rider on the boundings of the wastelands of Khallis. He tells that this rider is, in all significant measure; one of the troopers from out of this Garrison, but he rides for the scarp of Khallis, away from the scurvy Inn they call "The Raven." Why then, would a trooper ride such a path? There is something here that bodes us ill, My Lady; of this, I am certain-sure.'

Staisha hearkened to Calelindi's tell, beset with puzzlement. This held no reason; there was no sense here to be found. Turning; she bade Calelindi to come to Callam and apprise him of the same. Perhaps, there was some commission laid to which she was not privy. But, this resolve stood not sturdy. Callam spoke of all things to her. And more; why a singleton trooper? Were there some covert incurse to be laid… be it for intelligencing, or the like; then a ride of troopers would be despatched. 'Aye; there was something here that held not the truthing.

As they repaired to the Manor Hall beset with disquiet at the reveal of Calelindi's eagle, and anxious to lay the tell to Callam; a little above four leagues to the north of Calverstock; deep in the cloaking greening of The Delvlings, one more peril to The Oneness of The Light plotted, and wove an intrigue... an intrigue that, were it to prevail; would confound in no small measure, the standing of the Oneness of The Light at the dawning of "The End of the Shining Days."

In a rambling, and forgotten Tythe barn, were gathered a company of riders. Here, were gathered a repellent band of scoundrels and villains, miscreants and good-for-'naughts; ne'er-do-wells and self-dubbed mercenaries… the very dregs of Amriath. They had been scoured from the far reaches of the Realms by enticement of pledge of riches and plunder. They were led by their Mistress… a maleficent Algethi-maiden; distantly, from out of Shandalar. There was no meddle of The Darkness in this; 'Nay; this were something else. This were a bechancing of the ancient truth that "Old Sins cast long shadows." The Algethi-maid was, by name: Elarin Dalthriel; being the daughter of Gilmar the Meditor at The Court of Shandalar.

Gilmar the Meditor... he who had used, and abused, and defiled, and debauched Queen Cirion's Guard Captain, Karina in the grim dungeon cavern of the Corries of Thar. Gilmar the Meditor... who embraced the Justice of The Ice Queen Cirion of Shandalar, in the matter of rape and pillage; being the retribution of slow gelding and chained abandonment gifted to him by his victim with full consent of the Shandalar Queen.

Elarin Dalthriel was in receipt of some five summers when her father met with his amply warranted, and gruesome doom. Her mother had not mourned his passing; being emplaced, for a sturdy time in passing, as paramour to a Court Lordling. Indeed, she had forsaken the Court of Shandalar, and taken abode with him in his Hall. This Lordling was one of the perfidious covey of Lordlings at Court who had chosen, against the Command of their Queen, to conspire together to resist their perceived impost of the Tythe of Levy to be set in place for the span of two summers; laid upon all of the Farmsteads in the Realm. This, to provide full granaries for the Shire Seat of Khanlyn in the span in passing, 'till their fields gave crop.

Her mother's lover was the Malcontent Lordling: Rinil Farondar; he, who was adjudged by The High Council of Shandalar to be amiss in affection to The Crown of Shandalar; and had been sequestered in full sum and banished from out of Shandalar. Rinil Farondar... he who was ensnared by the "Baelar'enin" in covert cloak of the Faerie maid who harvested his seed to bring forth the half-blood who would become the False Beshlie; and when his worth was spent; had lured him to his fiery doom in the clutches of The Burning Fire-Shield of the Enchanted Girdle.

Elarin Dalthriel's mother fell into penury after his gruesome demise, and at length, bartered her daughter to a merchant who possessed a plenteous purse. Her daughter was then in receipt of a little beyond ten, and five summers. Elarin Dalthriel endured four summers of his corpulent and sweaty, lubricious impositions; until one night, as he pinioned her face-downwards upon the bed, and brutally imposed one of his most singularly debauched, and unnatural ruts upon her trembling body; she plucked the spiked candle-stand from out of the table hard by, and lunging behindwards of her, with all the strength she might muster; drove the spike into his flabby flank, piercing through his vitals to full deeping of the spike. He was dead before he had embraced knowing of the same. She had struggled, for not some slender span in passing, to free herself from the clammy, trammelling bulk of his paunchy carcass.

At length, she sat breathless, and spent upon the bed that had been the temple of his concupiscent tyranny, and breathed a great sigh of relief. Now, she would be free to seek her revenge upon those who had brought her to this demeaning beingness.

At the first; she, who need be held to account, was that arrogant, yellow-haired Queen of Shandalar… Cirion. Had the bitch not so chosen to countenance her true father's destruction; then none of this would have come to passing. She would not have been forced to endure this paunchy oaf's paw and slobber, these four long summers since passed. Here, in Elarin Dalthriel was sown the seed that would fester and rankle deep within her. T'would not, in time, prevail in turning her to The Darkness; but t'would inflict a sturdy meddle in the Matter of The Light.

As she had bathed away the sully of his debauchery, she resolved that she would strip his dwelling of such riches as were to hand, and sally forth into the south to secure such hirelings as she might encounter to effect her vengeance. With such riches as she might prospect about the dwelling, thus secured; she mounted the Merchant's finest stallion, and setting the remain of the stable loose to pasture; she rode out and away.

At the first; she rode for the Hall of Farondar. Here, she might engage those of Farondar's Retainers who were returned to the Estate as Tythe labourers by the Sequestering Court. The Estate had been parcelled out about the Landowners in surround, and t'was as like; the lot of the Retainers would be bleak under the sway of their new Masters. Farondar and his Household were not well liked in these Hundreds; and such as she might offer could well be a fetching enticement.

She gathered six hereabouts; one of whom, was he who was once Steward to the Estate of Farondar; and now, was mere groom to the Lordling: Seronlei Menelorn, who had garnered the northerly one-quarter of the old Estate in the allot of sequestration. The groom was called by name; Ardaran Caunroch, and he embraced a seething enmity for those he deemed had contrived his self-perceived fall from Grace.

Elarin Dalthriel appraised him. He stood close on four cubits in measure; broad, and hard muscled, and not displeasing to the gaze. He would serve her purpose in consummate array; and more…were she to bestow upon him her favours; well then… he could be her protector 'gainst those she would engage who might choose to betray their compact and decamp with her War chest.

In her ride to the south, she gathered another dozen incult ruffians from out of the ale-hovels and taverns along the way. Ardaran Caunroch stood as overseer to this scurvy parcel of roperipes and held them in leash as they progressed south.

He had culled another as his underling; a shifty-eyed rogue who went by name; Randir Garevar. When they cast off ride at the sink of sun; commonly, Caunroch would petition Elarin Dalthriel in prospect of her favours; and Garevar would stand sentinel with naked sword whilst they shamelessly swived beyond the reach of the campfire glow.

As they rode the reaches of Shandalar, Elarin Dalthriel elected that they turn to southerly-west, and progress out into the downlands by way of the Khallis scarp. In this, they would not be intercepted by the Shandalar Guard. For five moons they rode; pillaging all the way. Farm maids were defiled; granaries were plundered. The ride of Elarin Dalthriel and her band of outcasts marauded beyond the Law; and would, at length pay the sum of the score for their wickedness. But; that was not for now. For now; as they skirted the ruin of the Khallis Redoubt, in seek of passage, they beheld a lone rider coming on out of the west. Drawing closer, they perceived it was a lone female, garbed in trooper armour.

A mutter of ravishment crept about the band as the female came on. Elarin Dalthriel though, called them off. She was beset with foretoken that all was not as it would seem. She commanded that her plaything and protector, Ardaran Caunroch, and his chosen underling, Randir Garevar, stood the rabble off at distance whilst she rode in intercept of this singleton rider. There was much mutter and cavil amidst the outcasts, but they held, whilst their Mistress communed with the rider.

Then turning about, the pair rode back to her band of miscreants. Elarin Dalthriel took her standing forwardly of the ride and waved them onwards. The lone female rode past, and any who had embraced a lusting for her, felt their swelling girths wilt away as they beheld the cold, black, depthless gaze that studied them, one by the one, as they passed her by.

Elarin Dalthriel and her band of miscreants came down upon the northern reaches of The Delvlings, having marauded and pillaged across the plains of Amriath in the passing of six moons. The alarm would as like, have been laid concerning their ride; and for certain-sure... the hue and cry would now be raised across the Realms. Concerning this plundering; Elarin Dalthriel was in seethe of this meddle to her plot; but, these louts were held as firmly leashed as ever they might be; and to deny them their pillage would certainly have turned them upon her. Now; t'was needful to seek out some covert lair beyond common sighting. The patrols would be out, winnowing the plains for them.

These deep woodlands would be 'nigh perfect for concealment, and too; in accord with what the lone rider on the borders of Khallis had passed in intelligence; her quarry of second choice lay close to hand. She had been apprised by the lone female rider that her intent of assailing the Shandalar Queen stood not sound in measure. The Queen was protected by a sturdy Royal Guard within the stout walls of the Shandalar Citadel. Better by far, to strike at a softer prey. The Queen's younglings were at Calverstock; some five-leagues distantly south from the bourn of the greening. Commonly, they would, as-like, ride the broad way through the greening to the City of Rhom.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

With watchers laid; their habit of ride could be discovered. Then, they could be taken. In this, her vengeance could be double-edged. A dreadful suffering would be laid upon the Queen, were one... perhaps, both of the youngling Guardians be lost to The Light, and to their mother, The Queen. The rider though; had laid no tell of the advantage to The Darkness. Elarin Dalthriel was cozened in full sum to suppose that this rider was, but a malcontent who chose to lay such informations to her own designs. Never did she imagine that she was being thus used to the advantage of The Darkness.

Entering into the greening, they rode in covert array for a little less than the passing of one Sundial shadow-span. In an underwood-betangled glade, they perceived a rambling, and forgotten Tythe barn. This would suit their purpose. The barn was sturdy roofed with roomage and more, for the quartering of both riders and their mounts. There was, but the one portal; and the walls embraced full paucity of casements, save a for a reach of trifling slottings that compassed the upper reaches of the walls 'neath the eaves for the airing of the interior; thus denying moulder and taint of such tythes as were once hoarded within. In sum, this place would lay small charge of imposition to secure the same from assail.

Settled in their lair; Elarin Dalthriel charged her paramour, Ardaran Caunroch to cull out those of the assembled rogues that he deemed as embracing the steadiest humour; and set them to watching the several broad rides that clove the greening. There; they would weigh the ride habits of Elarin Dalthriel's chosen prey; and when all was laid to semblance; then the entrapment would be laid.

Here though; it should be told that a viper in the bosom should not be notioned as being 'naught, but an intrigue of The Darkness. For there was a thing not known; 'nor as like, would ever be known by Elarin Dalthriel, 'nor any of her freebooters. The shifty-eyed rogue who went by name of Randir Garevar was no shifty-eyed rogue at all.

Randir Garevar was, in truth; no less than Captain of the Intelligencer Cadre of the Rhom Guard. He had been emplaced at the specific instruction of Tristan, as a common ne'er-do-well, in a scurvy tavern located some twenty leagues to northerly-west of Rhom. Tristan had embraced receipt of a despatch from Callam, out of Calverstock, concerning the trooper who had remained with the hobbled maid on the edge of the Forest of Elisriendell, now close on a Se'nnight since passed; and had not been found by his comrades.

In this; Tristan had effected a wary surmise. This smelled of an intrigue of The Darkness. So; he had charged Captain Garevar to attire himself in mean, and shabby garb, and affect the demeanour of some vagabond cut-purse. Then, he was to winnow the ale-hovels, taverns and the like; in seek of such intelligences as he might gather.

Randir Garevar had roamed abroad; being severally turned out of such settlements as he came upon, as rapscallion and rascal. Never the once was his feign of standing breached. At length; he came upon a singularly disrelishing midden that the Ale-wife who held this scurvy pile had the arrant insolence to call a tavern. It lay on the very boundings of Lorenfalu and was called "The Iron Tinker." Entering in, he beheld a thrust of ill-favoured glances that apprised him to the sum worth of the buttons upon his coat; then finding no booty there to be found, turned again to their sport of knuckle-bones.

The keeper of this noisome kennel stood at the tap in attend of his newly-sprung guest. It was not simply put that he was ugly… though ugly enough he was; in full measure, and more. He was too… a crook-back; with his one shoulder heaved up about his ear. He smiled a welcome of sorts upon his weasely countenance… a smile as crooked as his back; a smile that lay askew upon his lips, as fleshy as a collop of mutton. T'was a smile of sorts that may not be tumbled to… a smile of sorts, to lay shiver betwixt the shoulders; as if a grey goose has, at that moment, flown above your grave. T'was a smile that Randir Garevar embraced with a singular lack of sentiment.

The crook-back's doxy, who called herself Ale-wife, was 'nigh as comely as was he. Here was an over-ample, paunchy slattern with baggy throat, and a brace of corpulent, and saggy paps that were 'nigh over-shadowed by her billowing gut. She made a brave endeavour to bestow Garevar a skittish smile, which did 'naught but cause her hard, beady eyes to retreat into the pursy rolls of flabby that beset her gruesome countenance. As she waddled towards him across the grimy flags of the ordinary; the fragrance of stale swelter that hung about her as like a winter cloak, lay siege to Garevar in sturdy accord. With what she held in imagine as a honeyed, and sultry tone… she spoke;

'And what be your pleasure, my fine, young fellow? How may I serve your wont?'

Randir Garevar made covert clench of teeth. He beheld the crook-back's eyes hard upon him, and chose t'would be prudent to suffer this dire game. Affecting a pleasant temper to his voice; he replied,

'A pot of your best ale, Mistress; and if it be as flavoursome as you are fair; then t'is a sum well spent.'

The Ale-wife bestowed Garevar her most winning smile; which in truth, did 'naught but bury her eyes deeper into her drapes of flabby; and contrived what might… in some, be called a blush; though, t'was as like, the last blush she had truly effected would have been when she was maid, full-found… and that; in the dim, and long since forgotten ages past. Nevertheless; the crook-back smiled at this flattery of his doxy, and the humour besetting this hutch they called a tavern, brightened in sturdy sum.

With pot of feeble, and cloudy ale to hand; Randir Garevar scraped out a rude chair and settled himself; raising his legs, and laying his booted feet upon the edge of the table closest to hand. The knuckle-bone players paid him small heed, and there… he tarried; supping the poor ale, and striving not to suffer the Ale-wife to catch his eye. There was small doubt she embraced a lascivious design upon him, and his flesh crawled at the unwarranted imagine of this great slew of lard pinning him to some soiled tick abovestairs, in jouncing swive upon him.

He eschewed her glances for a little beyond the passing of a Sundial shadow. At length; she wearied of this wile, and made paunchy progress upon him. As she loomed above him, the door was thrust asunder, and there stood Elarin Dalthriel in company with Ardaran Caunroch; calling for those who would ride with her band. Randir Garevar forsook his chair, and stood to their presence swifter than if the very hounds of The Abyss were snapping at his heels.

In accordance with her require; Elarin Dalthriel's louts settled themselves in concealment all along the broad ways that severally sundered the southerly reaches of The Delvlings. For the span of a Se'nnight, they watched the comings and goings. Here; a ride of troopers; there; a lone despatch rider. Now; a young fellow, richly garbed, and beset with sword. A pretty maid with escort. Each, and all of these gathered informations were carried back to the Tythe barn, and there laid for ponder.

Garnered from the melding of the sum of diverse intelligences; t'was perceived that a pretty, blonde maid commonly rode the far-southerly broad way in company with a pair of youngling fellows in lack of trooper escort. This was no ride to Rhom; t'was more, a pleasing progress abroad in the soft of the morning.

Elarin Dalthriel hearkened to her watchers; a sly smile besetting her countenance. 'Aye; this were better than her best hope. In accord with the tell of the Khallis rider; the blonde maid would be Princess Serissea; and one of her company would as like, be her brother… the Prince Calahmir. The companion was not a trooper; so he would be one more of the youngling Guardians. Were these laid by the heels in sturdy accord; then the vengeance of Elarin Dalthriel upon the Shandalar Queen would likewise, be discharged in full sum.

So it was; in the thin time of the dawning of the day when the younglings would, by habit, ride the broad way; Elarin Dalthriel and her rabble band set forth from their lair into the greening. Her protector and paramour; Ardaran Caunroch, had petitioned that she remain at the lair; but she was resolved to oversee the prosecution of her vengeance. As they progressed the shadowy gloom of the greening; of a sudden, there came a cry. Turning about; they beheld Randir Garevar sprawled amidst the leaf-tumble and underwood; clutching at his leg with countenance beset with pain.

Standing to him, they put the question of his adversity. In sturdy wince, he told that he had stumbled into a coney burrow in the gloom, and as like, had turned his ankle. T'were best that they progressed in lack of his company to lay the entrapment... he would make limping repair back to the Tythe barn. His miscreant comrades held no cavil at this reveal. Randir Garevar was not held in sturdy esteem by them. As they had marauded down from the north, he had not shared in the defiling of the wenches they had taken. T'would seem he held no stomach for such amusements. They imagined that perhaps, he held taste for something other than wenches. Further; such bounty as was his due for this endeavour would be forfeit, were he not there to prosecute the same. Such sum would then be portioned among the remain. T'would be his loss... and their gain. So; there, they left him.

He lay upon the leaf-tumble until their snap and shuffle of foot-fall was beyond his hearkening. Then, making good his feet; he turned, and ran into the deep of the greening as he set forth to carry the Alarm to the Calverstock Garrison. Were his endeavour to lie revealed; he would embrace a gruesome doom at the hand of these murderous louts; but then; that was the tally as like, to be imposed if he were ever to be uncloaked in any of his covert enterprises. He was mindful of this when he chose to take Commission as Captain of the Intelligencer Cadre of the Rhom Guard. Such craft as his was ever a barter with doom... 'aye, a swift wager with fate; and this business to hand were no different to half-a-hundred commissions that he had known.

He accomplished Calverstock without issue. Standing before the gates, he elicited entry therein. A sentinel peered from over the palisade, and bid the vagrant he espied there below, to be gone. Again; Garevar elicited entry; but now, effecting a sturdy cast to his words. This insolence brought forth the Guard Captain who stood forward to chastise this scurvy n'ere-do-well standing impudent, before him. As he raised his fist to strike this insolent derelict, the vagrant held forth his hand and opened the same to the sight of the Captain. There, in his palm lay a silver token.

The Guard Captain knew it at once... the Rhom Signet of Warrant. He beheld the vagrant before him with a sturdier gaze. Then, came the knowing.

'Why; t'is Captain Garevar of the Rhom Guard. What then, of this noisome, and squalid deception of demeanour?'

Garevar stayed the Guard Captain's blather, saying;

'No matter as to that. Bring me to the Lord Callam in all haste. There is plot afoot in The Delvlings 'gainst the Princess Serissea and her brother…the Prince Calahmir. Has she ridden out, thus far?'

The Captain replied that she had not; but, even as they parleyed, she was preparing to settle astride her mount. So too, was the Prince Calahmir. Tharlan would be riding out with them that day. Kerrall though, would not venture forth in their company. He chose to acquaint himself with tutelage of tactic. Needs must, no span be squandered in the hindering of their progress. The younglings were stayed in their decamp whilst Garevar lay the tell of plot before Callam, who laid sturdy inquisition upon him. Was this the hand of The Darkness, or something else? What sum of slayers lay in cloak, and where?

Garevar laid the tell in completeness. This were 'naught, but an avenging by the daughter of the Shandalarian Gilmar the Meditor. T'was an assail upon Queen Cirion in kind; but laid upon her younglings in her stead. Callam had heard enough. An entrapment would be sprung about these miscreants. This were recreant treachery beyond measure…'nay; more. In issue of this Elarin Dalthriel, t'were Treason; plain and simple; for she was Shandalar-born.

Turning to Garevar; Callam laid instruction that he should ride for Rhom in all haste, to apprise Tristan of this plot; for, should any of the miscreants decamp away from the entrapment; then Tristan's guards would be ready to hunt them down with sturdy prejudice, and in swift accord. He strode to the casement and called the younglings to him. As they attended his require, he summoned his Armourer to fetch three suits of link-mail from the Arsenal. These were of Leissor mail, as worn by the Riders of Lothleitha. They had been laid aside when the Lothleitha maids settled in Calverstock after the battle of Rhyddu.

Callam bade them gird themselves in the Leissor mail, then cloak the same with their common garb. They would then be secure, but would not seem to be thus, to those who lay in covert conceal, beset with prejudicial intent somewhere out in the greening.

Further; a half-squadron of the Calverstock Rangers would shadow the younglings; their mounts' hooves being bound about in muffle. They would ride at far enough distance behindwards, thus to insinuate that the younglings rode alone. When the rabble struck, the Rangers would lay sturdy gallop to engage them. Or, so lay the plan.

Tharlan though, was not fully assuaged by this intrigue. Callam had bidden them to ride unarmed. To ride abroad in the soft of the morning did not call for the bearing of sword... not, if all were to be perceived to be commonplace. Sight of the younglings in receipt of blade could lay the intrigue plain to these rogues.

Tharlan decried Callam's bidding; if he would wear no blade, he would ride with the dreadful "Baelnyr"... the Thuvian Blood-axe that held naming: "Arlannafeide"… "The Vengeance of Arlanna." This gruesome harbinger of the shrieking doom would be secreted in a saddle pannier.

Callam grasped issue with the youngling Guardian's adamance, but Tharlan was resolved. This was how it would stand, and that was an end to it. At length, Callam laid wary assent, and thus, beset them with stern instruction. The Rangers would carry the youngling's swords, and swiftly give them over if 'aught prevailed. Tharlan needs must hold off any assail 'til this was accomplished.

The ride set out onto the broad way that wended The Delvlings. Serissea and Calahmir rode in company; one to the other. Tharlan rode a little behindwards. On the face of it; t'was 'naught but an agreeable, and indolent ride on a fine morn... in truth; t'was a deceit of careful choose. Such placings would afford Tharlan roomage in full measure to draw his "Baelnyr" and prosecute an engagement. Two score cubits to rearwards, rode the Calverstock Rangers.

Nurel Lintehirion; Reeve of Calverstock, led the Rangers. He had been with Tristan at the battle of Rhyddu, and was bestowed with a peerless guile in the matter of covert insinuation. Lintehirion knew well, the rides of the broad ways of The Delvlings. He had patrolled the same, these five summers in passing. On this, the southern ride; he reckoned that were he wont to lay a covert intercept; t'would be in one place, and one place only. That place would be Fairbeech Hollow.

Here; the broad way embraced a shrouded crook in its passage; thence made widening, as if, t'were some forest glade. This widening reached for some three-score cubits, then straited to what it once had been. At the far reach was one more shrouded crook in contrary course. Here could entrapment be laid, and no prospect of espial from forwardly 'nor behindwards be accomplished by chance. As they rode; he laid his strategy of intercept to his Rangers.

A little before the shrouded crook in the broad way that led into Fairbeech Hollow; Nurel Lintehirion called the halt. He apprised the younglings that they should hold beyond sighting of the hollow whilst his Rangers un-muffled their mounts. Then; the Rangers would hold at this place as the younglings took up their ride. If 'naught manifested; then the younglings were to hold at the crook in the broad way beyond, in attend of them. This being settled; the younglings moved forwards at an easy trot.

They had progressed perhaps, one quarter of the reach of Fairbeech Hollow when; with great hue and cry, in manner as to panic the horses to rear and skitter, and thus, to unsaddle the younglings; Elarin Dalthriel and her rabble burst from out of the underwood in surround of the three. The first of them to raise sword to strike at the younglings was Ardaran Caunroch, who made to swing blade at the Princess Serissea at the behest of his doxy. He too, was the first to die… as Tharlan struck him from on horseback with his dreadful "Baelnyr"... the Thuvian Blood-axe that held naming: "Arlannafeide"… "The Vengeance of Arlanna."

"Arlannafeide" hacked down into Caunroch's shoulder at join of neck; shattering his collar bone, and only staying from cleaving him asunder when it bit into his spine and breastbone. Caunroch's sword tumbled from his smitten grasp as he lurched away shrieking, and goutingly spraying his life-blood into the turf. Calahmir swiftly forsook saddle; and accomplishing his feet; snatched up the fallen blade, and lay forth into the fray in safeguard of his sister; as with a thunder of hooves, the Calverstock Rangers burst into Fairbeech Hollow and rode down onto the miscreant rabble; who turned to face them as Tharlan lay forth dreadful mayhems with his Blood-axe into the midst of the seethe; hacking and hewing down those louts who sought to unhorse the Princess. Nurel Lintehirion had laid his strategy well. Within the reach of less that a quarter Sundial shadow-span, his Rangers beat down the ruffians with no sturdy concern, save this:

As Lintehirion rode to bring out the Princess Serissea; swifter than he might behold; a slender figure lunged at her from out of the throng. He glimpsed a flash in the figure's hand as the sunlight caught the upward thrust, and then, came the bright "ching" of metal upon metal. The Princess cried out, and tumbled from out of her saddle. Lintehirion rode down the figure that spun about as he thrust down at it with his sword. As the blade point took her square in the throat, he saw it was a woman. He beheld the cast of astonish, and arrant disbelief in her bright blue eyes as she clutched at her throat with fingers clasped; wherethough her blood spurted. She opened her mouth as if to give voice, but no words came... 'naught, but a gouting of blood. Then, she crumpled onto the broad way and was still.

Nurel Lintehirion leapt from his horse and bent to the Princess. Her pretty face was twisted in pain, and blood blossomed upon her jerkin from about her waist. Lintehirion rent the fabric aside and beheld the broken blade of a wicked, slender dagger piercing her mail. T'was a vicious blade; as like, a stylet... or bodkin. It had pierced her mail 'neath her ribs about the right-most flank of her waist. Lintehirion cursed the Armourer for keeping in employ this war-weary mail. Leissor it might be; but it had, beforehand, embraced sword cut and batter, and was certain-sure to be slighted in part; albeit, such slighting might not be readily discerned. And here; was measure of proof that all should have been cast away as being deceitful in trustability.

Should he strive to pull the blade forth? As he fretted, Calahmir and Tharlan came to his side. Nurel Lintehirion glanced at their distraught countenances… Calahmir, white and frightened; Tharlan blood-bespattered, and pensive.

'What means should I embrace, My Lords? Should I strive to draw forth the blade? For, in truth, I have small grasp of 'pothicking, and may enkindle some graver hurt to the Lady.'

Calahmir gave no voice. Tharlan attended; then spoke;

'T'would be a sounder endeavour to ride her on to Rhom; for there we may search out Cuchulain; churgeon to My Lord Tristan. T'is barely three leagues-distant... less than a Sundial shadow-span, though we ride the Princess in gentle accord.'

Nurel Lintehirion nodded;

'So be it, My Lords. Let us gentle her to saddle and then, be you gone. I shall detach a half dozen Rangers to ride you escort, and shall abide here to attend to these vermin.'

As they rode away with consummate care, Lintehirion turned again to his Rangers. His countenance was grim, and forbidding, and his voice was ruthless. He laid command that each, and all the rabble be gathered; be they dead, afflicted, or unspoiled. Ropes were brought from the Rangers panniers and cast up over the boughs of trees all along the one margin of Fairbeech Hollow. Then the whole band of murderous louts were hanged out of hand, one, by the one... be they living or perished. Those who were alive danced upon the rope for not a slender span in passing, for there were none there who chose to tug upon their thrashing legs to speed their passing as they slowly choked. The corpse of the woman was hanged beside them. And there, were they forsaken and left to swing in the woodland breezes; a dreadful warning of the price for Treason to those travellers passing by, who might hold notion of freebooting in, and about the lands of Amriath.

Trethan and Calahmir brought Serissea to Rhom. She was borne away to the dispensary where Cuchulain; churgeon to Tristan apprised her hurt. He needs-must draw forth the broken blade 'ere he might prospect her wounding, but this would bestow her grave paining. He must furnish her with a draught of mandrake and poppy; but this would squander a fair span in passing, 'ere she were enclasped in its creeping mantle of darkness. So, he sat with her; stroking her hair, and soothing her with gentle words until she slipped into that silent land of shadows, and there was no more pain.

Taking up a pair of elegant 'pothick's pincers, Cuchulain grasped the broken blade and gently drew it forth. It came easily, with a thin shriek as it scraped against the Leissor mail links. Then it was free. It held a reach of some four fingers. A thin trill of blood seeped from the breach in the mail; so, swiftly, yet gently; he stripped off her mail and chemise. He beheld the wound; a single hand-span 'neath her nether rib, and slanting upwardly. She manifested no coughing 'nor aspect of blood upon her lips; so it had not pierced her lung. What though, of her tripes? Such blood as there was; was bright red… so, t'was as like, that 'naught had been spitted. Nonetheless, Cuchulain needs must be certain.

He had no design to lay her flesh open; so he took up a curious tool which resembled a pair of tiny spoons, adjoined by a screw. Gently, he eased this tool into her wound, and turned the screw about, little by little. The spoons moved in reach, one from the other; and gently spread the wound, yet rendered not the skin. Bringing forth a 'pothicking device which was, as-like, a pair of reading stones set one before the other at reach specific, and too; with a slender candle attached behind, and to one side of the nether stone; he lay a flame to the candle wick. Then, with consummate care, he brought the whole close to her wound. The bright of the candle flame was cast into the wound by the reading stones, and in this, Cuchulain could make diligent regard within.

He resolved that there was seemingly, no harm deep within her, and lay the curious implement aside. Next, he brought forth a reed, and laid it into a flask of the rare, and costly Oil of Alfirin. He took the nether end of the reed betwixt his lips and gave gentle suck. Then, he forsook the end of the reed, and swiftly placed his thumb thereover. Gently, he emplaced the foremost reach of the reed into the wound and lifted his thumb. Such Oil of Alfirin he had sucked into the reed trickled deeply into her wound. He drew the reed out and cast it aside… as too, did he draw forth the curious spoon tool, having backwardly turned about the screw, which closed together the spoons.

Threading Lothleitha spider silk to a slender curved needle as employed by fine leather glove artisans, he laid a pair of delicate stitches to her wound. She would mend in lack of blemish. He settled her upon the bed and wrapped her warm about with the mantle. Calling forward his nurse, he bid her that the Princess be attended until she roused from the cradle of the draught of mandrake and poppy. Then; his nurse was to come, seek him out. With this behest laid plain, then Cuchulain withdrew to seek out the companions of the Princess.

He found them gathered together in the Great Hall in company with Tristan and Trillian. He beheld the solemn demeanour of Tristan as Tharlan lay tell of what had come to passing in Fairbeech Hollow. Tristan attended the full sum of tell, and too, of Tharlan's tell of the resolve, manifest… for any with the eyes to perceive; of Nurel Lintehirion, concerning the punition of those who would venture this Treason within the bounds of his warranted domain. Tristan pondered the Tell with stern countenance; then spoke,

'Methinks there is something more to this, than common assail and pillage. I hold presage that the hand of The Darkness is enwreathed in this iniquity. So now; Randir Garevar, you shall tell me all that you have tumbled concerning this rabble.'

Garevar laid the full sum of his intelligences before them. He told of Elarin Dalthriel... of how she was daughter to Gilmar the Meditor of The Court of Shandalar. He told of how she was beset with a fervid wont of vengeance upon the Shandalar Queen in requite for her self-perceived, unwarranted misfortunes. He told of the encounter with the female garbed as trooper, on the borders of Khallis; and of the bolstering of Elarin Dalthriel's enmity that was plainly seen in ensue of her commune with this rider. He told of how she elected to forsake her resolve to assail the Shandalar Queen, and rather, lay covert onslaught upon the Queen's younglings. Tristan hearkened to the Tell of Randir Garevar. For a little while, he was silent. Then, he spoke; and his voice was hard.

'The hand of The Darkness is indeed, in meddle in this matter. 'An they had prevailed in their waylay; we would be thinner in sum by three youngling Guardians of The Light. I am certain-sure that this thing that the Lord Laumil of Elisriendell has laid name to as "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days" will, soon enough; be howling at the gates. T'is time to raise The New Guardians of The Light. Send despatch immediate, to summon Beshlie to Rhom to take up her Sword of The Light… "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning."

Turning to Trillian, he spoke again.

'Go, tell Elshore to gather his Guardian blades together. The time is 'nigh for these younglings to take them to hand. Gather the younglings, each and all, to the Great Hall. The shadows are gathering and there is thin span in passing to spare, and none for the squander.'

As Trillian withdrew to seek out Elshore in his forge, Tristan bade Cuchulain to apprise him of the standing of the Princess Serissea. Cuchulain told that she was safe from imperilment by her wounding. She would not though, ride for at least a full moon span from waxing to waning. T'was a common blade that had pierced her, and not a Karuk. She would be well tended; and, as like, would carry no imposition from the wound. Tristan nodded. He turned to Trethan and Calahmir.

'Are you beset with any hurts that Cuchulain need attend?'

Both younglings told that they were not. They bore the odd scrape and cut, but none to bestow concern. Tristan beheld them. Was this the boldness of youth? He laid sturdy apprise of the pair. He could see 'naught, to decry their reply. True; they were blood-bespattered, but t'was seemingly none of their own. He glanced at Cuchulain, who nodded his accord. So be it. The Lord Eldamar was still at Calverstock. A rider was to seek him out for the attendance of the gathering in the Great Hall. T'was his place, as Lord Guardian of The Light to bestow the swords upon the younglings.

At the behest of Callam; Elshore had gathered together the Swords of The Light from their sleeping in their mantles of beeswax. He had brought them from Calverstock to the Rhom Forge. The scabbards that Torbair had fashioned lay, wound about with oiled cambrick in a deep coffer at distance from the forge-bed. All that need now be done, was the cleaning of wax from the sword-blades; the final settling of edging, and sheathing them to scabbard.

As Elshore progressed this task; at the distant reach of the Rhom Muster yard, Tristan was laying instruction of despatches to be flown out to Shandalar; to Elisriendell, and to Arlanronde. As he communed with the Falconer; suddenly, there came the thunder of hoof, and a trooper came on, making hurtled gallop in from the north. His steed was hard-lathered from his desperate ride. He made slump; fully-spent in saddle. Tristan made swift step unto him. He saw t'was the picket of the northern Lorenfalu patrol that had been attached to the Shire Seat of Khanlyn.

With great weary, the trooper made dismount from his sweated, and shivering steed and slumped against its flank. Bereft of wind; he was silent for a slender span in passing; then, he gathered his breath and spoke swiftly.

He told that the watchers of Shandalar had spied a great mass of riders out on the Plain of Khallis. They held imagine in tally, of well beyond ten thousand. This Host was moving to the south in sturdy accord. Tristan made to turn, but the trooper gasped that there was more... much more. He told that the northern watchers of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn had espied a sinister lurk and slink about the charnel that had once been the settlements of the Thuvian miners in the northern reaches of Khallis. The tale that the trooper brought was enough to cause the blood to run cold.

The watchers beheld that those who prowled the settlements were not of a breed as had thus, so far, been encountered. One youngling watcher; perhaps, more audacious… or as some might say; more foolhardy than his fellows, had crawled down from the heights to elicit what these creatures might be. He had effected an espial from little more than three-score cubits in reach, and had not been discovered.

Upon his return to his comrades, the tell that he laid was dreadful. He told that the creatures were cowled and cloaked all in black, and embraced countenance of withered, and gruesome ancients; being ashen, and starveling of face, and fiery-red of eye, which glowed as like, hearth-coals from out their shadowing cowls. More, they cast no shadows.

They had circled about the charnels of the slaughtered Thuvians with outstretched hands, from which; as they made some shiversome plain-song; tendrils and wreathings of some dreadful black, brume coiled and curled about the festeringly noisome carcasses of the butchered miners. Before the youngling watcher's disbelieving stare, the gruesome carcasses began to stir. As they rose up; the moulder had drooled from their ruined frames; but this loathsome issue did 'naught to hinder their rising. Soon enough; all were raised, and gathered in slovenly regiment. There; they stood, silent and unmoving, as the dreadful creatures made progression to the next sprawling charnel, there, to effect this dreadful abomination anew. The youngling watcher had scrambled back to the heights, close-wordless in his fear. His comrades had, at length; prevailed upon him to lay the tell of what he had espied. Wide of eye, and haltingly of tell; he had, at length, laid before them the sum of what he had perceived out on the plain below.

The northern watchers of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn had embraced a common trepidation at his tell, and elected to decamp from this place in sturdy accord, 'ere they were discovered; for the dreadful beings below were drawing closer to the watchers' lie as they cast about in raising such scattered charnel pits bestrewn about the low reaches of the rising ground whereon the watchers lay in concealment. With consummate care, the watchers had crept in covert withdrawal to the secluded place in the hindmost reaches of the heights whereto, they had tethered their mounts. They elected to ride hard for the Shire Seat of Khanlyn, there to lay the Alarm to the Lord Protector Khanis.

The young picket of the northern Lorenfalu patrol who had laid espial in their company; attached, as he was to their endeavour this Se'nnight since passed; held name of Kharstan Volnis. He was elected to ride in all haste for Rhom. He needs-must accomplish the full reach of the western Shandalar plain; for the only egress into the High Pass of Ling was now, by way of the Striding Edge Redoubt.

T'was a perilous, and lonesome ride all down through the Plain of Shandalar, the High Pass of Ling, and the wastelands of Khallis. Kharstan Volnis had accomplished the same in the passing of two full moons; bereft of plenteous victuals for either, him, or his mount. He had drawn water where he might, and had not broken ride save for this purpose. Tristan hearkened to the ominous tell of the young picket trooper; then, turning to his Captain of Guard ordered that the bone-tired young fellow be taken to the kitchens, and such wont as he embraced be provided for in wholesome fare. His mount was to be taken to stable and delivered into the care of the Master Ostler. A rider was to be despatched immediate, for Calverstock. Eldamar must be apprised of this issue. He would know the meaning of this ill-boding issue.