Chapter Seven.

The Ruin of Khallis.

As the spring stole softly across the land; now came the time of Beshlie of Calverstocks' coming of Age. The summers had drifted and spun their courses; the tutelage had been laid, and the time was to hand for Beshlie, daughter of Staisha the Huntress, to embrace her foretokened standing as Mistress of The Riders of Lothleitha.

Thus, upon one soft and early spring morning, Beshlie rode out with Staisha; bound away all up through the golden meadows of the Shining Lands, to progress the deep greening of the Forest of Elisriendell to the settle of the Sisterhood of Lothleitha. As they rode, Staisha apprised her daughter of the chare of Lead Rider of The Sisterhood of Lothleitha. It was an honourable, and esteemed standing. The Riders of Lothleitha were ever embraced in the Dreaming of Elaiana, "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being."

At length, they came down through the deep greening to the covert glade where lay the settle of the Sisterhood. They were made welcome by the Mistress at this time: Mahriel, who commanded two of her sisters to bring Beshlie to the steading of the armourers; there, to be furnished with the fitment of Leissor mail. Thence, Staisha and Mahriel strolled the settlement in idle palaver; with talk of younglings; of things that were once, and of things that may yet, come to be.

Within the armourers steading, the Sisterhood sempstress arrayed Beshlie in a snug-fitting, fine cambrick chemise, bolstered about the shoulders with sturdy, yet pliant leather to fend off buffet from blade-stroke; and a pair of long drawers of sort, as might be called "Braies"… were they to be borne in kind by some cavalry trooper. Now, the armourers would fit her with her mail.

When all was done, she came again from out of the Armourers steading. She stood before Staisha and Mahriel; in image, a true Leader of the Riders of Lothleitha. She stood, a little above three, and one-half cubits, shimmering silver in the sunlight. Indeed, full muster of mail failed to disguise of her sweetness of form. The sum of the whole of her standing was more than enough to plunder breath. It was not just that Beshlie was beautiful... as was her mother; 'Nay; t'was this...

Close, all of the Riders of Lothleitha were bestowed with hair of blonde or flaxen hue. Beshlie though, was not. Her hair was the darkness of a blackbird's wing. She wore it in lack of tumbling tresses... much as would an Algethii from out of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil, and she moved with Algethii grace. The manner of wearing her hair thus, drew the gaze to her perfection of countenance… her high cheeks… her face; the perfect image in shape of a lilac leaf; and those eyes! How many young swains, they wondered, had drowned in those eyes?

Mahriel nodded; here indeed, was a worthy maid to take up her mother's standing. She studied Beshlie, who requited her apprise with a steady, hazel-hued gaze that in some, might be deemed contumelious; but here… spoke of 'naught but self-assured certitude. Mahriel smiled; 'aye, she was indeed her mother's daughter!

Within the Sisterhood there were one, or two who had stood with the Forces of The Light at the battle of Rhyddu, but rode no more, and had embraced standing of armourers, 'pothicks, and the like; who whispered... had none perceived that the soft, hazel-nut hue of eye of this pretty maid, in certain light; held a subtle, and delicate flecking of pure amber? There could be no refute that she was Shah'Algethi… also called Aure'Algethi... the Golden, or Sunrise Algethi, High-born and Noble… the purest of all. The flawless, pale bloom of her skin laid this tell as plain, as if, writ upon parchment. Her eyes though, should be of blue, or grey hue; perhaps, of green or violet… or any melding of the same. But they were not.

These sisters held in their remembrance, another pretty maid; being a true Shah'Algethi, yet possessing eyes of another hue. When; at the most desperate reach of the Battle of Rhyddu; from out of the south, came this slender young maid; clad not, in armour, more a simple linen shift; who rode a Unicorn that was not a Unicorn; more a mighty creature having a horn that was not a horn, but a shining, golden spiral, and fiery Amber eyes.

Here now, came "The Chosen One" who once, was Caron; Stable-groom maid of Shandalar; later, Mistress of Horse to The Ice Queen Cirion; who stood at last uncloaked; and with brazen, and shining golden eyes, rode to war bearing the Sword of The Light, "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth." This slender, golden-eyed maid; who, for a brief moment in time, stood encircled in The Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," and brought down the wrath of The High Goddess, upon the verminous heads of The Mordbrood Host, laying them to waste on the borders of the Plain of Malphaers.

Might it be that this Beshlie… this Mistress arising; might too, be enclasped in the Dreaming of Elaiana? Might here be laid a presage of the times yet to come, in the Matter of The Oneness of The Light? Such things were not for the knowing; but still, they gazed upon this beautiful maid; and they wondered.

Turning about, Mahriel spoke;

'Come now; let us repair to paddock to cut you out a worthy mount.'

She led them down through a stand of Rowan to a small meadow wherein there were lodged a parcel of youngling Unicorns. Mahriel then prevailed upon Beshlie to make the choose. She walked in midst of these creatures, speaking softly to each and all... as is the gift of maidens, full-found. At length, she made the choose… a youngling stallion embracing something, a little beyond two full summers. She laid hand to the Unicorn's muzzle; he gave gentle nudge and nuzzle to her hand, apprising her with a lingering stare from his black, velvety eyes. It was plainly laid that here, was an unspoken bond and covenant made at the first. Mahriel nodded;

'A wise choice, sister. This is the one by name "Cephus"; he has fire, and so, methinks, have you.'

Another of the Sisterhood had brought forth saddle and tack. She made to furnish Cephus with the same, but he whinnied and shied away. Once more, she strove to tack him; once again, he decried with rearing up, and pawing the air with his foremost hooves. Beshlie stepped forward; pulling the Maid aside, saying;

'Stand away! 'An you tack him in duress, you shall ruin him for all time. I shall saddle and tack him; Now, Stand away!'

The maid bestowed a fretful, and chary glance at Beshlie; then murmured,

'Aye, Mistress; but have a care… he is stubborn and unruly. Methinks he has wont of a sturdy gagging curb and a taste of the whip.'

Beshlie glared at her…

'He has not! I shall not have him made hard-mouthed, by his having simple learned to resist the bit by dint of indolent mishandle and paucity of wit.'

She stepped up to Cephus and reached out her hand to him. He held off; his velvety black eyes filled with dubosity. Then, little by little, he moved his muzzle closer to her. She gentled his head, reaching up and stroking his ears, speaking softly…

'La; Hush now, my brave fellow. Shall you afford me leave to beset you with tack and saddle? Come now; this needs-must be done, 'an we are to be compeers together; you and I.'

Then, slowly and gently, she set to tacking and saddling him. He gave no sturdy demurral this time; save for the odd toss of mane and flick of tail, and soon enough he stood in full array. All the while, she stroked and gentled him; murmuring to him. Now, would come the test of fate; would he permit her to mount?

Beshlie whispered to him once more; he tossed his head, as if in assent. She reached up, grasping pommel and cantle, and accomplished boot to saddle with a lithe, practised swing. He stood docile. Here was no buck, 'nor sidle; here was no whinny 'nor snort. Cephus stood proud and noble; his head high. Here, at the first; could be seen a friendship, an empathy; deep understanding… each to the other, betwixt mount and Mistress. This bonding would stand unquestioned; for then, each on the other… each could then, rely.

Here then, was such a sight to be seen… The beautiful Beshlie; the darkness of her hair now seeming darker still, 'gainst the shimmer of the sun upon her shining, silver Leissor mail, and the snow-white glare of Cephus, bedazzling the eyes of those there, in surround. There was, but one more thing to be done. Staisha stepped forward and unwrapped a leathern bundle she had brought in conceal from Calverstock. In her hands she held out her own Leissor-bladed, Algethi sabre; the same that she had borne whence she was Lead Rider of The Sisterhood of Lothleitha. She made gift of her sabre to Beshlie. Thus, passed from mother to daughter, this symbol of The Mistress of The Riders of Lothleitha. The Circle was now complete.

The next pair of moon-span passings were spent in the embracing of accord betwixt Beshlie and her chosen mount, Cephus. Soon enough came the concord and covenant; the friendship, the empathy each to the other. Mahriel had laid the tale true; Cephus had fire, and he ran like the wind... perhaps, not quite so swift as Eldamar's Starshadow; but swift enough... and more. And, t'was, as like, his speediness of pace would be to no small advantage in the times as yet, distant. There was small cause for sturdy, and watchful patrols out to the borders of Elisriendell at this time. The Enchanted Girdle denied Darklings such chance of stealthy incurse as they had once commonly prosecuted. So; such time as was held in advantage, was spent in hone of tactics in company with the Nemesis of Lothluthil. In this, there stood sound advantage to both. The Riders of Lothleitha had fresh maids in their company who had taken the places of their mothers; as too, had the Nemesis of Lothluthil taken fresh troopers.

As Khaartur had lain tell at the Council of The Light; the Nemesis Brotherhood was to strength at four cohorts; though, there were many amongst them who had not been blooded in battle. Better by far; the greater skill that would be garnered in mock affray, than ever there might be in mentoring word and tutelage. More; though they rode and engaged as if t'were not simple fancy; there was small prospect of hurt, 'less t'were by mischance... for t'was certain-sure t'would not be by design. At length, The Riders of Lothleitha and the Nemesis of Lothluthil became closely enjoined as a ride of Assault cavalry. The one would support the other when The Darkness closed about Amriath. There could be no knowing when this might be; but t'was plain… as if writ upon parchment for the seeing; that come it would.

As the springtime crept across Amriath, and the Moonflowers bloomed once more in The Delvlings, all lay seeming passably secure. The prowl of Chutaks about the Enchanted Girdle was held in imagine to have dwindled; the flit and wreathe of the dark nebulosities of the Shadow-Wraiths along the watchtower chain of Rhyddu were less than had been in the summer, since past. Still though, Eldamar felt the tremor in The Light. There was mischief abroad; of that, he was certain-sure… but of such mischief, there was no sign. 'Nor would there be; for The Dark Lord had connived another design.

Whilst the Chutaks skulked in their winter lairs, and the prowl of the Shadow-Wraiths were hindered by the bitter, gusting howl of the winter winds; he had brought forth from The Abyss, a covey of minacious minions that might effect a covert breach within the compass of The Enchanted Girdle. These creatures might never be stayed in the effecting of his design. They lurked deep in the earth; scouring and gouging burrows, and were called by name: Shanik. They were, as near as common likeness might be laid; to mighty, leprous-hued worms that gnawed their progress, unseen and unheard.

The Dark Lord's design was guileful, yet simple. The Shanik would bore forth to southerly, until they gained the reaches of the old, forsaken mine workings in the northern mountains of Khallis. These mines stood from the early times of the Erinthorean miners, and were long overpassed, and cast from remembrance. When a breach was effected; then, the Chutak Hordes could spill forth unseen within the compass of The Enchanted Girdle and lay the Khallis Thuvians to waste. Then, unhampered; they could assail the remaining Lands of The Light. Eight Legions of Chutaks were summoned to gather as the Shanik sallied forth. Their bores need span forty leagues and would squander a full pair of moon-spans in the making.

In the Great Delve of Findar, in the northern mine-workings of Khallis; two "Sabrak" watchers: Thring Elarr and Harthal Delgyth, were sitting in the lowest Ungor delving consuming a thing that the Thuvians called a "Skof of Drongnel." This was a cold meal; eaten underground; being of stew, with cave mushrooms steeped in strong ale. Sabrak watchers commonly patrolled abandoned mines as were thought to perhaps, be likely to yield further riches; for the purpose of appraising the whole for signs of "Largh"... being loose stone or slumping of roof. As they sat amidst the "Grint"… the waste rock and spoil left by mining excavations; Thring Elarr, of a sudden; bade Harthal Delgyth to stay his chatter. He hissed;

'What were that? Did ye hearken to it?'

Harthal Delgyth shook his head;

'I heard 'naught; ye be notioning, you fool Wattock.'

Thring Elarr snorted;

'Think ye not to bandy murmelings with me, Wanaz! Could be forebode of a "Krunk."

A "Krunk" was Thuvian cant for an underground rock fall; and Thring Elarr had known many. He made good his feet and shone his lanthorn into the shadows. Harthal Delgyth peered into the blackness,

'T'is 'naught but the shuffle of the belly of the Earth. Come…'

These were the last things Thring Elarr and Harthal Delgyth ever said… or did; as the wall of the Ungor delving bellied forth, engulfing them in tumbling, crushing rocks as the leprous-white, gaping maw of a Shanik worm burst out into the mine.

Urdin Vondar toiled in the Grint piles that lay without the mouth of The Great Delve of Findar. He was an "Under-Rhunki" - a jobbing Rune-smith; and "Skratted" for odd skelfs of gold amongst the rock spoil passed over by the miners. As he toiled, he hearkened to the hollow, distant rumble and crash of what could be ;naught-else but a "Krunk," deep down in the belly of the delve. As he peered into the gloom, he hearkened to a faint clamouring in some vile, rasping tongue that was not Thuvian. He did not tarry to perceive from what manner of creatures the clamour came.

Dropping such gold as he had skratted upon the ground where he stood; he leapt upon his pony and galloped into the south to bring the alarm to the Khallis Citadel. He had accomplished, perhaps, one, and one-half leagues away, when the first Chutak came into the Overlight from out the mouth of the Great Delve of Findar. It snuffled the air; and catching a scent… turned, and watched, with the pale yellow orbs of its eyes; the dark speck of the distant rider trailing a plume of dust as he galloped frantically down the Khallis plain.

Thoris Barandor was riding the first of the waggon loads of the barrels of the Dark drink of the Khuzud-Mahin towards the worked-out mineshaft of Farsten, which lay some five leagues to northerly-west of The Pavilion of Silence. With him, rode two squadrons of House-Carls to oversee the broaching and gush of the sum of contents down into the mine. They had progressed perhaps, a little above half-a-league beyond The Pavilion of Silence, when they espied the rider galloping in from the north. He came down swiftly upon them, and, reining in his steed; gasped out his alarm.

Barandor strained his gaze to northwards… and there! A plume of dust standing some six leagues distant... a plume in standing, that laid bid of imagine of many riders. Barandor did not tarry beyond a heartbeat in squander. Calling for the waggon horses to be unhitched in swift accord; as one, they all turned for the Citadel; and wild was their ride as they rode for the shelter of the Stronghold of Khallis.

Seven Legions of Chutaks came down across the Khallis plains, intent on the slaughter of all they found. At first, they found the forsaken waggons piled high with barrels. The more gluttonous of their company perceived this might be some steep of ardent liquor, and fell upon the barrels. The Horde Masters called them off, but not before many had taken a sturdy sum of the pungent yellow liquid that the barrels contained. For their gluttony, they would pay a loathsome score. These were the barrels charged with the sum of the intrigue of Falani Gildar, Grand Dame of Khallis. These barrels were filled with plain water, to which was cumbered a pair of sturdy measures of the pungent, and hand-staining yellowness that steamed from the rocks where hot springs were to be found, deep in the mines of Khallis. The Chutaks were unlettered in savour and did not deem the pungency as overly curious. But; soon enough, they would find it so… though curious was not a word to employ in the catechism they would soon embrace in issue of their gluttony.

The pungent, and hand-staining yellowness was held in chary regard of prudence by the Thuvian miners. Great care was effected to wash all tinge of the same from off their hands, 'ere they ate their "Skof" below ground. This yellowness, at worst; might, in time, lay the blight of the Crab Sickness upon them... were they indolent in dousing hands each time the yellowness was touched. At best, it would swiftly bestow upon them, a dire affliction of "The Rutz"… the noisome slackness of bowels in manner far worse than that caused by the glutting of too much unripened ale.

The Chutaks had ridden no more than half-a-league 'ere the first of them were smitten with the gripings in the belly. Yet one more half league, and close on half-a-cohort were scuttling from out the Horde to drop breeches with each passing of less than a quarter Sundial shadow-span. This affliction made such hinder of the Chutaks' foray, that Barandor and his House-Carls accomplished the Khallis Citadel and raised the alarm in such measure that there was time enough for the great catapults to be hauled out before the very walls of Khallis, and charged with the dreadful meld which gave a spurtling and scopious wild fire when it struck in midst of its prey.

The catapults were ratcheted down, and the evil, boulder-like lumpings were smeared with the thick black liquid that seeped and spurted from such places where mining had delved too deeply into the earth. The flaming links were held ready as the Chutak Horde drew ever closer. Barandor held; his arm raised in waiting… even though his warriors glanced at him with fear standing plain upon their countenances as the Chutaks closed; Barandor yet held. The Chutaks' War-cry shivered the Khallis warriors' very bones. They could see plain, the pale yellow eyes; the lipless maws beset with sharp, needle-like teeth…the brandished black, Karuk blades… then Barandor downswept his arm.

The links were thrust to the boulder-like lumpings, which burst to flaming as the Engine-Masters loosed the latches. The great counterweight tubs crashed down, hurling the flaming lumpings away into the midst of the charging Chutaks where they burst into great, fiery blossomings; spattering their blazing gobbets upon the Chutaks... gobbets that clung to those so misfortunate to be afflicted, turning them into shrieking, blazing torches. Sweating and cursing, the Engine troops hauled down the hurling arms of the catapults, and fresh, boulder-like lumpings were heaved into the casting spoons. The thick black liquid was poured thereon, and the links thrust thereto. Again, came the shuddery crash of the counterweights, and one more storm of bursting fire engulfed the Chutaks. Their charge faltered; and this was enough.

As if, from nowhere, came the drumming of hooves. Barandor turned about and stood, slack-jawed, as he beheld the three full- cohorts of his Khuzud-Mahin maids sweeping out of the gates of the Citadel, full in the Berserk; their Dushrakhas glittering in the smoke-stained sunlight as they fell upon the scattering Chutaks. Falani Gildar rode at their head; her honey-gold hair streaming in the wind of their hurtling charge, and her pale, grey eyes bright with the Dark drink of the Khuzud Berserk.

She rode with the Dushrakhas blade of Kyla Dinush, as was her right as Grand Dame of Khallis. Held high in the sunlight; the blade, beset with fine jewelling of Ruby and Emerald; all garlanded round with Gold Runic Devices in proclamation of the Rank of The Grand Dame of Khallis, shimmered and twinkled. To the blade hilting; a plaiting of Gold and of Leissor wire, each entwining together, as like, cloth, woven finely; flashed and glittered in catching the sunlight. With the wild cry of the Khuzud Berserk upon her lips; Falani Gildar, Grand Dame of Khallis fell upon the milling Chutaks with her cohorts, and all was bloody affray.

The Engine-Masters laid cursing bullyrag and chivvy to the Engine troops of the catapults as they sweated and strove in the piling of more stones into the counterweight tubs to impose more lengthy reach of hurl. This would lay the fiery dreadfulness about the hindmost crush of the Chutak Horde… to lay the shrieking doom distantly beyond the Khuzud-Mahin maids, and drive the unspoilt vermin onto the Khuzud blades. Loose after loose of the flaming lumpings burst and splattered in midst of the hindmost Chutaks. With each gush and gouting of fire, perhaps, one, and one-half score were smitten with the monstrous, fiery splash that clung to them and burned deep into their flesh. The Plain of Khallis was all wreathed in a foetid stench of burning flesh and steaming gore.

The Khuzud-Mahin maids sundered the Horde; shattering Karuk blades with their Dushrakhas; laying the sweeping blows that sliced into Chutak flesh down to the very bone. The House-Carls of Khallis assailed the flanks with whistling "Baelnyr"… the dreadful Blood-axes; sending Chutaks staggering about, shrieking and gouting their gore from out of great gaping wounds.

In the midst of this hideous carnage was revealed a weakness of these gruesome creatures; or rather, a weakness in the evil mounts they rode. These creatures that bore a likeness to… for want of better presentment… Wolverines; were a'feared of fire. As the first burstings of the fiery doom blossomed on and about them, it was seen that the creatures baulked and shied; rearing up and unseating their riders who were then held forfeit to the sweep of the Khuzud Dushrakhas. Above a legion of these vermin perished thus at the first loose of the catapults; and there were many more who followed. Barandor saw here; a singular advantage that needs be laid to the knowing of the Council of The Light.

At length; that which remained of the Chutak Horde broke, and drew back. Seven Legions of Chutaks came down across the Khallis plains; a little above ten cohorts dragged themselves back into the north. The remain lay shrieking and spurting away their black spans; or smouldered and sputtered, all sprawled in their cindering doom. Thoris Barandor lost half-a-score of his House-Carls; Falani Gildar was bereft of two-score of her Khuzud-Mahin maids. Such loss was grievous to Khallis; for as Barandor had lain tell at the Council Tally of Sword at the Great Crystal Castle, but a pair of summers since passed; at best, Khallis could muster three cohorts of Khuzud-Mahin, and perhaps one half-cohort of Sword-masters and Axe-men. Among these were counted the House-Carls.

In the aforesaid pair of summers, others had enjoined and bolstered the company, but, the Flower of Khallis had been lost at Ling, and such losses as now prevailed were ill-borne. Those lost, were gathered and laid into waggons to be carried to the charnel of The Pavilion of Silence. The Chutak carcasses, and too, those of their mounts would be bundled into more waggons to be carried away to some forsaken mining delve and there, tumbled in. This though needs-must wait. The Pavilion of Silence need be made ready for the pyring. On the morrow; the fallen of Khallis would be bidden farewell as they journeyed to Seithynnor.

On the morrow, the cortege set out from the city, passing through the field of carnage where the cindered carcasses of Chutaks and their mounts yet smouldered in the early morning sunlight. Those of Khallis who had fallen, were lifted to the rostrum of the Pavilion of Silence and pyred in parcels of six. As the smoke of their passing to Seithynnor rose into the skies, it was seen that there was more smoke hazing the skies to the north. It must be that the Chutaks were firing the mining settlements... there could be no other reason.

Barandor despatched a galloper to the Citadel to bring out the waggons that were laden with the casks of black powder that crashed, and made gout of flame. The resolve was that these would be laid into the mouth of the Great Delve of Findar, and fired, thus effecting a mighty "Krunk"… the Thuvian cant for an underground rock fall. This, t'was hoped, would seal the Delve so that no more Chutaks would come forth into the Overlight. Then, t'would be no great imposition to hunt down and slaughter those who yet lurked about the Plains of Khallis.

The last parcel of Khallis House-Carls was about to be pyred, when out of the north, was seen a rider in approach. From the manner in which he sat to saddle, t'was plain to see that he was sorely afflicted. His little Dun pony was spent. As they watched, he pitched from out the saddle into the dust. Two House-Carls ran to where he lay. T'was one of the miners from the northern settlements. His jerkin was soaked through with his blood. Tearing the leather aside, they beheld a great gash upon him from shoulder to rib... a gash that was gathering purple about the renting to his flesh. This was a wounding from a Karuk blade; it could be no other. The miner was surely forfeit to The Darkness. There was 'naught that might be done for him. He gasped out his alarm. The Chutaks were marauding in throng. All the mining settlements to the north were laid to waste... none prevailed.

Such intelligence was swiftly carried to Thoris Barandor. Falani Gildar made to call her Khuzud-Mahin maids to assemblage, for riding out. The Khuzud Centuri of the First cohort; Ragan Galed, stayed her, saying;

'Nay, Lady; your place is here whilst the Pyring Ritual yet prevails. I shall ride out the cohorts in your stead, and you may follow on when all here is complete. And, should the day go not well for us, then we shall await your coming, in Seithynnor.'

Seithynnor… the Afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes, where they sat in Halls with their forebears, and feasted forever, on red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer; all boasting their prowess at war. Even as she spoke, Ragan Galed knew full-well that there was, but a slim chance of any of them sitting in the Halls of Seithynnor. To perish by a Karuk blade condemned them fully lost to The Darkness... and it were Karuk blades that they would face this day. She permitted herself a wry smile. No matter; She was Khuzud-Mahin... and who wants to live forever?

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As they rode, Ragan made study her of comrade Khuzud-Mahin. She saw no fear, 'nor prowl of anxiousness. They were battle-weary from the assail before the gates of the Khallis Citadel; yet still, they were of goodly cheer. She was proud to be riding with them. The House-Carls who accompanied them, were too, embracing the same measure of goodly cheer; with tease and jesting with the maids. They could not know that five leagues before them was arrayed the Chutak Horde in full sum. Close, on two thousand had prospected the gouged burrows of the Shanik worms, and now, they thronged the northern Khallis plains.

A pair of leagues to southerly of the Grint fields of the northern mining wastes, Ragan Galed called the halt. The Dark drink of the Khuzud Berserk was passed about. The House-Carls elected to take of the Dark drink in this assail. They would ride in full Berserk with their sword-sisters.

Those House-Carls and Khuzud-Mahin maids who shared an affection; bid one to the other, their soft farewells. There would be no fancy of the same when they became embraced in the wild kiss of the Dark drink. 'Nay; all they would be mindful of would be the slaughter of Darkling vermin. As their eyes became brighter in the clutch of the Dark drink, Ragan Galed called the advance. The Khuzud Berserk and the House-Carls rode forth at a steady trotting, in that they might preserve their mounts; for when they effected the Berserk charge, a weary mount would be a grave imposition.

One more league and they formed battle array, spurring their mounts to canter, and drawing blade. Upon the wind could be plainly heard the tumult of the Chutak Horde as they squabbled and bickered over the choicest morsels that they had colloped from their victim miners. Cresting the rise above the Vale of Findar, Ragan Galed signalled the charge.

With the War cry of the Khuzud Berserk loud upon their lips, they swept down into that vale of sorrow. Storming down the scarp, full in the Berserk, this last Flower of Khallis hacked into the massed Horde of Chutaks, as does a dagger blade sunder whey. Out-bladed in sum of two-score and ten, to the one; with their eyes wild and bright, full in the Berserk; they laid a dreadful imposition of carnage upon the Horde.

T'was a reckless magnificence far beyond all as might be held as recklessly magnificent; a wild endeavour, worthy of minstrel songs to be sung about the campfires for a thousand summers... The Last Ride of The Khuzud Berserk; but, alas, none to lay the tale, as one by the one, they were hacked down.

With the pyring discharged, Thoris Barandor and Falani Gildar made ready to ride in trail of the House-Carls and Khuzud-Mahin. Barandor laid command that the great casks of the black powder that crashed, and made gout of flame be lodged in The Pavilion of Silence. There was now no purpose in waggoning them to the Great Delve of Findar if the Chutaks were abroad. In an aside, he bid the Engine-Master to prepare the whole for firing; for Barandor had a presage. T'was a presage he would not choose to embrace, were there a choice… but there was no choice.

The Engine-Master spoke softly to Barandor; he held knowing of a contrivance as would more than effect a monstrous destruction, should the need arise. Barandor told him to make it so, then turned away to ride with Falani into the north.

They had progressed perhaps, a pair of leagues, when they espied the Chutak Horde riding down upon them. It swept, as like a black wave across the broad plain. Wheeling about; Barandor and Falani Gildar embraced a reckless gallop back towards The Pavilion of Silence. Perhaps, they might hold these vermin at bay here until relief came. This; Barandor knew were a forlorn hope. If the Chutak Horde was abroad, it could mean, but one thing. They had prevailed against the Berserk. There would be no relief to be had.

Accomplishing The Pavilion of Silence with the Chutak Horde hard on their heels, Barandor and Falani loosed their mounts and scrambled within. The great door was swiftly barred, and they made hasty clamber of the stairway to the rostrum platform. Peering over the ramparts, they beheld the Chutak Horde swarming below. They were entrapped, as surely as if they had been taken in surround out on the open plain. Soon enough, came the din of crash and splinter echoing up the stairway as the Chutaks laid axes to the great oaken door. Barandor cast gaze about the rostrum platform. Had the Engine-Master stood true to his word? There! Snugged under the corner of the pyring grating… a slender twine, hard by a tinderbox laid close thereby. 'Aye; Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis had held true to his word.

Falani made glance at Barandor. He saw the shadow of hopelessness, swiftly cloaked; in her eyes. He outstretched his arms to her and folded her into his embrace. She whispered; striving to conceal the tremble in her voice…

'Our days have been sweet in our company shared, have they not, my love?'

Barandor smiled gently,

'Aye; I could have asked for no more than that which I have shared with you. The days have been sweet, indeed.'

Her eyes; her pretty, pale-grey eyes were steady once more. She smiled softly;

'Then let us do it now; for methinks, there is slender span in passing for us to cling to. I am not a'feared to journey unto Seithynnor; but only of the manner in which we may accomplish the same.'

Barandor nodded. He drew from his tunic two small phials of a yellowish liquid. This was their escape to Seithynnor that his Alchemists had brewed for just such a purpose. They had steeped Wolfsbane and Larkspur roots; Cherry laurel leaves, and Apricot seeds; the issue of which was 'stilled in manner much the same as were Alfirin blossoms in the making of Tincture of Alfirin. This yellow liquid so gathered, did not though, bestow a healing. 'Nay; when taken... at the first, there came a swift faintness and flushing of the cheeks. Then, would manifest a shortness of breathing, and swooning away. In, but a slender span in passing beyond this, would softly come the Great sleep.

Barandor and Falani Gildar clung to each other. He saw the whisper of fear flit into in her pretty, pale-grey eyes once again. The Chutaks were clambering the inner stairway of The Pavilion of Silence. There was little time in remain for the squander. She kissed him long and softly, then whispered,

'Come, Thoris; let me take of the draught of the Great Sleep, for I am a'feared of what they might have in mind for us. I would not have them hack us asunder... as if butchering some beast for table, whilst we yet live. Come, my love; let me take of it now, for we have known the days; you and I.'

Barandor made falter for a pair of heartbeats; then handed a phial to her. She made no dither; but drew the stopper and raised the little phial to her lips. With a bright laugh, she threw back her head; her honey-gold hair shining in the sunlight, and tossed the sum of all that the phial held, down her throat. Casting down the spent phial, she gazed at Barandor, a wild smile about her countenance… saying,

'Thus, my love; we meddle their endeavours. Fare you well for a little while; I shall wait for you at the Gates of Seithynnor.'

Barandor; close to tears, held her tightly in his embrace, and made whispered respond;

'Aye, my Dearling; I shall not be so very far behindwards of you...'

Barandor held her close as she made slump into his arms. Her breath became shallow as she swooned away; and little by little, her drawing of breath diminished 'til t'was stilled. He cradled her gently, as the sound of axes against the upper stairway door echoed up to the rostrum platform. Laying her softly down, he struck sparkings to the tinderbox. As the little flame arose in the dried moss kindling, he held it close to the tail of the twine that trailed up into the rostrum grating. The twine 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 spill water seeped; and the sweet, pale crystals that manifested when honey was boiled.

When dry, the twine burned swiftly down its reach, once offered to a flame. The nether end of the twine was pushed into a cask of the black powder that crashed, and made gout of flame. It lay in the bowels of The Pavilion of Silence, all about the ledge that compassed the Well of Gatherment, with nine of its kin standing closely one to the other; the sum holdings of each, being pressed firm into the casks. Further; all about and upon the casks were emplaced several loose-tied bushel bags of finely-ground barley meal.

Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis, cognised that when the casks gave crash and flaming, the ground barley meal would be flung about in a choking cloud. This cloud would burst into a torrent of flaming with great force and ferociousness; tearing out the walls of The Pavilion of Silence in whirling splinters of marble which would hew down the Chutaks in surround. Nalish Dorak had seen the sum of such a calamity when a splathering kitchen boy had let tumble such a bag of barley meal whilst closely progressing the great hearth in the old kitchens. The billow of dustings had burst forth in furious flaming, and close, burned out the kitchen.

Barandor hearkened the scrabble of feet without the last door. He swiftly tossed the yellow draught down his throat and touched the flaming tinderbox to the twine. With fading gaze, he watched the little fiery spark rush away up the twine as the axes began to splinter the door. Then, the soft darkness enveloped him as he made prepare to set his feet upon the pathway unto Seithynnor to meet again with his Falani.

The door burst asunder, and the first of the Chutaks swarmed the rostrum platform. All they found were the two corpses… and a curious smell of burning. Snarling in their chagrin at finding no slaughter, they bent to brutally strip the bodies in preparation for colloping the flesh. As the first Karuk dagger slashed asunder the bodice of Falani; laying her pretty breasts naked to the sunlight in readiness for the colloping; the little fiery spark accomplished the cask belowstairs. With a mighty crash, the casks burst in a tempest of flaming which kindled the billowing, smothering cloud of ground barley meal... just as the Engine-Master had notioned.

As it took fire; there came a monstrous crash and torrent of flame that burgeoned out from the base of The Pavilion of Silence, hurling splinters and shards into the thronging Chutak Horde gathered thereabouts; hewing and hacking them down in a whining hail of slivered marble. As the great edifice began to topple; bereft, as it now was, of sturdy foundation; a huge, and dreadful blossom of fire billowed up the stairways within the stricken tower. Those Chutaks so misfortunate to be upon the stairs, were cindered where they stood. The great, roaring, outblooming of fiery doom burst from out of the rostrum platform, consuming in a heartbeat, those Chutaks who gathered there despoiling the corpses of Barandor and Falani Gildar, colloping their flesh for victuals.

As the swelling blossom of fire rolled into the skies, The Pavilion of Silence lurched and fell; the great marble blocks sundering, one from the other, and crashing down upon the milling Chutak Horde; crushing and splattering them into the plain of Khallis, now reeking with the spurting gore of their shredded, and tattered companions.

Thus passed Thoris Barandor; Thuvian Lord of Clan Buhrodar, and his Lady: Falani Gildar; Grand Dame of Khallis. And laying about the ruin of the Pavilion of Silence, sprawled close on five hundred of the Chutak Horde, weltering in their gore… all crushed and slashed to shreds and rags; brought to their squealing, writhing doom by this last defiant deed of one who did not elect to count the cost, but only to bring to passing, that, which needed to be done when all else was lost.

The Chutak Horde-Masters gathered their forces; berating them in the vile, rasping tongue of their kind, if any of them shrank back from the weltering carnage of their stricken comrades sprawled all about. Then, turning into the south, the Horde rode for the Citadel of Khallis. Here, there were no warriors. Here, there were only armourers and forge-masters, grooms and servants. Even so; when the gates of the Citadel were, at the last, torn down, and the Chutaks swarmed within; the defenders fought with Long axes, with spears… and even forge-tools, picks, and billhooks. T'was though, a lost cause; and soon enough, all were slaughtered. The Chutaks held here whilst they took of campaign victuals… being the freshly colloped flesh of the Citadel defenders. When all were sated in hunger, they rode out of the stricken Citadel and turned to their next quarry… the Garrison of the great Khallis Redoubt, two leagues to the south.

The great Khallis Redoubt was a differentness. It lay four-square; spanning the defile in the towering rock face that led out into the Great Gorge of Khallis. The defile was arched over and corbelled to the highest reaches of the towering cliff. The passage to the Great Gorge was barred with a mighty, iron-sheathed, oaken gate at each end of the defile; and lay, as a closed tunnel some eighty cubits in depth of reach. Above, and to each side were defence bulwarks; and were this not enough… the one in command of the Garrison of two cohorts was Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis.

Nalish Dorak had held notion that the day would be lost; proven true, when he beheld the destruction of The Pavilion of Silence. As the great gouting of smoke had soared into the skies to northerly, and the monstrous crash had echoed the plain as Barandor fired the entrapment; Dorak had laid a further entrapment all about the great Khallis Redoubt. He knew the Garrison of a mere two cohorts might hold the Chutak Horde for only a little while; and so, he had laid the last casks of the black powder that crashed, and made gout of flame, all cunningly about the footings and buttresses within the great edifice. He laid seven casks in sum; all linked with the same twine that burned swiftly down its reach, once offered to a flame; the casks being laid so that the firing would bring down the cliff, sealing the defile.

One Thuvian in remain might effect such a calamity to the Chutak Horde. Gainsaid a passage through the defile they needs must clamber the cliffs which soared above four hundred cubits, if they thirsted to lay their feet in the Great Gorge of Khallis. With the sum of cliff and Redoubt dropped, they would be ensnared, and no choice but to turn again to the place from whence they came in seeking out another course. Meantime; the alarm could be carried up to Shandalar, and out to Rhom.

So it was; as the Chutak Horde came down upon the great Khallis Redoubt, they were engaged by the Garrison. The fighting was bloody, as the Garrison held them for a while at the northern gate. Alas; two cohorts on foot… no matter how bravely they fought; were no fair match for close on two, and one-half Legions of these vile, mounted butchers; and soon enough, came the thud of axes against the northern gate. At the last; when the Garrison without was slaughtered, Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis, commanded those in remain within the Redoubt to withdraw into the Great Gorge of Khallis by way of the southern gate, and to secure the same as they decamped from out the defile.

When all had decamped; he laid flame to the twine. He watched, as the little fiery spark rushed away up the twine. Then… calamity! As the spark embraced the conjoin in the twines that led to each of the casks… it died. There was, but one last endeavour he might employ. He needs must lay flame to each twine in turn. But; all must fire as one, 'else the cliff might not tumble. Swiftly, Dorak chose to embrace such destiny as fickle fate had apportioned him. He must cut the twines, each to a differentness in reach, so all might burn as one. In this lay his certain doom; for there would be no time to effect an escape. No matter; he laid again, the flame to the twines, one by the one; then sat, and watched the little fiery sparks dancing away towards the casks. He began humming an old miners drinking song…

"Skrat and Skrund in delvings deep,

Seeking Gold and finding Cruk.

Now... Grindel maids and Grizdal Ale?

Nah… Skanky sluts and Scurvy Luck.

Wi' Grog that brings the Squittering Rutz...

As ye slink a sly-slipped chuff…."

He chuckled; that line always gifted him a smile. The imagine of electing to slink out a covert-cloaked chuff... and the awful dawning that the stink that caused your fellow miners to take hasty backward step, with wincing cough and clasp of nose; was not by bestowal of covert chuff; but by the filling of breeches with Cruk. Alas, the folly and woe of glutting ale that were too green and unripened in cask! Grinning; he made to take up the verse again... then, his eyes were blinded by a monstrous flash; and Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis was no more.

The Chutaks hacking at the northern gate, scarcely had time to cast gaze upwards as the northern edifice of the great Khallis Redoubt, and most of the cliff-face in surround, crashed down upon them. The Horde-Masters stared at the ruin of their aspire; then, snarling their chagrin in their vile, rasping tongue; turned what remained of the Horde back into the north, leaving their dead and injured where they lay. Thus ended the first engagement of what would come to be called "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days," The Flower of Khallis, and Khallis itself was lost. Who then, would be the next to succumb to The Darkness?

The Guards at the great Striding Edge Redoubt had hearkened to the two monstrous crashes that echoed the High Pass of Ling, but had seen 'naught of the burgeoning brumes of smoke and dust that had soared into the heavens, by cause of the mighty, towering rock face of the Great Gorge of Khallis cloaking their sight of the same. Nonetheless, The Bastion captain had called the Garrison to full alert. A little beyond the passing of one Sundial shadow-span from hearkening the later mighty crash; there was perceived a faint hammering upon the towering, Iron-sheathed gates of the Redoubt. Casting watchful gaze below from out of the high embrasures, they espied a lone Thuvian slumping against the gate, wearily beating upon the sheathing of Iron with the flat of his Long-axe. His mount stood close; lathered and steaming with sweat; his head hanging doleful in tell of tale that he had been ridden hard, and was now fully spent.

Word was swiftly brought by the watchers to the Commandery of the Bastion, and the Watch captain, being apprised of the presence of the Thuvian without; ordered the gate capstans be wound about to permit the Thuvian ingress. The great chains sang out, and the mighty gates yawned asunder. The Thuvian was brought to the captain, and though, close-spent from his wild ride up through the High Pass of Ling; gasped out his alarm of what had befallen Khallis.

The Watch Captain hearkened to the Tell in sombre accord. He rose, and strode to the doorway of the Commandery, casting instruction that the Thuvian be attended in his comfort. He then called out his Duty Standing troop, laying command that they should, with all haste, gallop for the Citadel of Shandalar to bring the Alarm to the presence of The Queen. He stood at the Bastion portal and watched them gallop away, all up through the Low Riggs of Striding Edge until they accomplished Ling Beckside, and thence, passed from his sight out into the Shandalar plain. T'was, as like, they would come down upon the Citadel of Shandalar within the span of two or so, Sundial shadow passings.

Turning again, he strode forth into the Bastion and commanded the Redoubt be secured in full sum. The great gates were ratched shut. The Iron shackles securing the winding chains to the great gates were struck out, and the chains loosed. The great Iron drop-bars were ratcheted down into their sockets, and the mighty, oaken drawbars were winched into their staples across the reach of the gates. None might now progress the portal of the great Redoubt of Striding Edge until all was re-settled as it was before. Passage into Shandalar... leastways, this one; was now denied.

The Garrison was commanded to stand turn-about watch of three Sundial-shadow passings. The War-arrow chests were laid open, and the arrows therein... the dreaded, bodkin-headed killers, were issued forth. All the Redoubt embrasures were settled with two archers, being armed with the powerful, double-curved War-bows. The great Redoubt of Striding Edge stood prepared for such as might manifest upon it.

From the ramparts of the Bastion of the Citadel of Shandalar, the captain of The Queen's Guard beheld the troop of riders coming from out of the south. The Citadel was on full alert, having perceived the great pillars of smoke arising from out of Khallis. Being too far distant to hearken to the thunderous crashes as the black powder casks had been fired; they held imagine that some calamity must have befallen the Realm of their Allies out to the east; and t'was as like; the hand of the minions of The Darkness had effected the same. So; all about the plain of Shandalar to the north, and to the west, and to the south, was a chary watchfulness so laid.

The great gates of the Shandalar Citadel were opened, and the troop rode into the muster yard. Lorimer came from out the Citadel Inner Bastion to elicit such tell as the troop Cornet would offer, concerning their ride from the Redoubt. He hearkened to the Cornet, who told of the Thuvian calling the Alarm. Lorimer stood with grave countenance as he hearkened to the sum of tell; then spoke of what had been seen to the east. He elected that the Cornet be brought to the presence of Queen Cirion, so that she might determine what now should be discharged.

Cirion hearkened to the tell of the fall of Khallis; her pretty face, grim and unsmiling. When the Cornet had done with his tell; she spoke.

'At the first; we must secure our borders and bring word of Alarm to the northerly Fiefdom of Lokaria. Lokari and Tahkaiia must be forewarned, as too, must Khanis and Gwythlyn at the Shire Seat of Khanlyn. T'is as like; that t'will be hereabouts that the Darkling vermin will effect an ingress to our Realm. Further; the youngling Guardian: Kerrall… son of Lokari and Tahkaiia, needs-must be brought out of harm's way... as must be our own younglings: Serissea and Calahmir. Fly me out a Merlin despatch to Callam at Calverstock; in entreat that he brings out his gryphons to deliver the younglings safely into the west.'

The troop Cornet stood before Cirion. He evinced a bold demeanour, yet, she perceived the cloaked unease in his eyes. Werryn Harnad embraced sum of ten, and nine summers. He had ridden as troop Cornet for a little beyond one, and one-half summers, and had never drawn blade in seeth. But now; he stood before his Queen; and, with the boldness that the young grasp easily; spoke…

'Majesty; 'an you would permit us fresh mounts, we shall ride into the north to bring the Alarm into Lokaria.'

This was an enterprise beset with peril. There could be no knowing whether the Darklings had progressed from out of northerly Khallis and were even now, swarming the northern reaches of the Realm. Cirion was of a mind to deny the press of suit of this recklessly bold-hearted young Cornet. His troop stood behindwards, and gazing about their faces she saw plain, that they embraced this accord in full sum. Favouring her words with consummate heedfulness… so as not to decry this bold aspire; Cirion assented… given that she would detail a ride of her Royal Guard to bolster the troop to the sum of a squadron. This were not by cause that she did not hold sturdy stock of the Redoubt troop … more; t'was to secure safe despatch of the Alarm. Were they assailed upon their ride; why then… the ride could disband at gallop in diverse bearings; and one, at least, would as like, prevail.

Werryn Harnad held no cavil with this counsel of The Queen… albeit, he knew it were no counsel at all. He saw in the Queen's eyes that no gainsay of this would be countenanced. So it was, The Redoubt troop, bolstered by three troops of The Queen's Guard rode out as a squadron; charged to both seek out signs of Darkling incurse and settle the Alarm upon the northern reaches of Shandalar. As they rode into the north, Cirion stood at the ramparts of the Inner Bastion and watched them diminish from her sight, with the hope of her heart that they were not, even now… too late in their perilous endeavour.

The ride of the squadron to the north stood in lack of issue; though, all the while, as they rode they were beset with irksome, and eerie notion that they were watched in their progress. Though they scoured the western reaches of the Yeranoor Woldings with sturdy wakefulness, there was 'naught to be seen. At The Queen's Constabulary Station of Calenlaide; Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm was apprised of what had come to passing in the matter of Khallis. He elected to ride his Constabulary Overseers and troop of Constables in patrol about the western borderlands from the Weens of White Prestor to the foot of High Camas Mhor in the distant, northerly reaches of Lokaria.

There had been 'naught brought to his hearing of any thing which might bestow cause for concern; but, he considered it prudent for the squadron to elicit tell of such Constables in the diverse hundreds as they rode. This thing was prosecuted in measure as the squadron rode for Lokaria. The respond though, was ever the same. 'Naught beyond what was commonly perceived in the Hundreds had manifested. The steaders tended their crops and beasts as they ever had done. Merchants journeyed abroad, but none had lain tell of 'aught... and they would lay tell, for certain-sure, if they perceived a thing that might hold chance of confounding their trade. Nonetheless; the squadron rode with ever watchful gaze out to the west.

A little way beyond the Corries of Thar, they rode into Lokaria. Riding deeper into the Shire, they beheld that much had prevailed beyond such imagine as they held of the uplands. Here, were pastures and fields of crops; here, were sprinkled Farmsteads and young copses of trees. All was placid; the Shire of Lokaria was indeed, a pleasing place. Distantly, reared High Camas Mhor, and below it, the honey-hued walls of the Shire Seat of Khanlyn. The Stone-Masters had indeed raised an imposing settlement upon the high uplands.

Khanlyn was approached by a broad way that led to a great gatehouse, overseen by ramparts. Beyond; were streets, all cobbled, and ranged to both sides with dwellings of stone. Entering in, they rode the streets of Khanlyn in seek of the Shire Manor steading, wherein, they would find The Lord Khanis and his Lady Gwythlyn.

At length, having severally progressed the streets that were laid, all cunningly winding, to confound a direct assault; they came upon the Shire Manor. T'was sturdily walled about, to a reach of some ten, and five cubits in standing; and closed with great oaken gates. Hard by; were the Halls of Tutelage, where the youngling Lokarians were trained in the Arts of the sword and the bow; as agreed in the Covenant with Shandalar that Lokaria would be "Sangencrist," or "Weapons Gather" to Shandalar. This Covenant held that Cirion could call out the Lokarian Warriors at her behest. Lokari… chosen to become Master of War in this place, trained all Lokarian younglings in these Arts.

As the squadron rode into the courtyard of the Shire Manor, Khanis and Gwythlyn came forth in welcome. The Cornet Werryn Harnad made to lay the Alarm, but Khanis stayed him, saying;

'Come ye in to the Hall and take of food and drink; for ye hold such countenance of those who have ridden hard, this day. When ye be accorded thy comfort; why... then shall we speak.'

Werryn Harnad decried Khanis, saying;

'Nay, My Lord; I mean no offence; but I am commanded by The Queen to swiftly lay the Alarm upon you without let, 'nor hindrance. Khallis is lost; all is laid to waste, and the Darkling vermin may well be marching upon you as we stand here making bandy of words.'

Khanis and Gwythlyn made startled gaze, one to the other. For a moment there was no word dropped. Then, Khanis spoke; his gaze hard, his words carefully laid…

'What mean you; Khallis is lost? How can this be? Do you say that Barandor's Khuzud-Mahin Cohorts, and too, his Sword-Masters and Axe-Men are laid to waste? What manner of Darkling incurse has brought this to passing?... and more; how then, did they breach the Enchanted Girdle? Methinks, ye need lay the tell in full accord, Master Cornet.'

Werryn Harnad apprised Khanis and Gwythlyn of the full sum of tell, as laid by the Thuvian, concerning the ruin of Khallis. He told of how t'was said that the Darklings had progressed to the Overlight by way of the mines. He told of the tumbling of The Pavilion of Silence, and, of how Nalish Dorak… Engine-Master of Khallis had sent forth his comrades to carry the Alarm; and then, had brought down the Khallis Redoubt and the sum of cliff-face in surround; to close the way into The High Pass of Ling. He told of how Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm was, even now, riding his Constabulary Overseers and troop of Constables in patrol about the western borderlands. Khanis hearkened to the tell of Werryn Harnad in completeness of issue, and then spoke; his countenance grim…

'We thank ye for progressing the Alarm to our cognisance in such swift accord, Master Cornet. We shall send out our Bailiffs to raise the Alarm across the Shire. We may muster something above four-score warriors in sum; and, alas; few of those lettered in mayhems. My concern though, is thy tell that these vermin came from out the Underdark by way of places within the Enchanted Girdle. The Halls of The Keeper of The Dread Imposition, within our old Eyrie on Camas Mhor is a tangled labyrinth of caverns and tunnels. Some of these progress to the Overlight within the boundings of the Enchanted Girdle. It might be that the Darkling vermin will incurse Lokaria by this means. I shall set watchers thereabouts, and lay beacons upon the high places. Now; come ye and take of food and drink in our company; for thine endeavour is faithfully prosecuted.'

Meantime; out on the western borderlands, Rethir Elwand, Tythe Bailiff of the Realm in company with his Constabulary Overseers and troop of Constables, rode a watchful, and chary patrol of the boundings of Lokaria and the Yeranoor Woldings. They had ridden two Sundial-shadows in lack of issue. The Woldings lay tranquil and lonesome to their gaze. A little to the southerly-west of the Corries of Thar; the young Constable who held the Hundred of Merrowmoor which lay some five leagues to the east of The Queen's Constabulary Station of Calenlaide, began falling behindwards of the ride. Rethir Elwand called halt and rode back to the Constable, who told that his mount was laming with what was, as like; a stone-bruise to her right-most front hoof. He told that she would decry favour of it somewhat when she walked or trotted; and when she stood, she would rest her hoof upon her toe. Rethir Elwand made dismount, and effected a study of the mare's hoof. He cast a knowing gaze at the young Constable.

'Aye; t'is indeed a stone-bruise. Perhaps, you had best rest her up a while. See; we are close now to the Corries of Thar… and soon enough, shall turn again to ride into the south. We shall meet with you upon our return. There would seem to be paucity of peril hereabouts. Stay you here, and rest up the mare, but keep your wits about you, by chance that there be some covert incurse we have not unmasked.'

The young Constable, who held naming, Thrubas Rendil… nodded. He relished the issue of a lonesome vigil in this place… not at all. But, he could not hold station with the ride upon a lame mount. He watched his comrades ride on towards the little spinney of oaks that sat upon the rise to westerly of the Corries of Thar and loosed the mare to graze upon the sweet grasses that grew about this place. He sat under the shade of a great, lonely oak, and gazed out across the Shandalar plain.

Soon enough; he was lost in wishful imagine and fancy of his betrothed; a pretty young maid of the Shandalar plains who held name: Tiaath Arethril. She was a tall, and willowy blonde maid who possessed that rarest of all Algethi eye hues; the hue that was called by name: "Luhtamire"… "Enchanted Jewels." Tiaath's eyes held the imagine of embracing hue of blue, or grey, or green; in standing of what manner of light they were perceived; be it sunlight, or candle, or firelight. He had bidden her farewell that morn, saying all would be well... t'was, but a workaday patrol, and no peril there to be found. He would attend her upon his return that eventide.

Lost, as he was, in muse and reverie of sharing the sweetness of his lover's embrace; and too, of the bright span of togetherness they envisioned, one to the other; he did not see the baneful, dark shape that crept down out of the shady, spreading canopy of the great oak. The first that he knew was his mare whinnying, and starting from her grazing. Too late; he threw an upwards glance as the Shadow-Wraith fell upon him.

Compassed and cloaked in the black, nebulous brume, his ears were filled with a dreadful shrieking… he felt a terrible, burning pain in his chest. Then, there was 'naught... 'naught but darkness. With a wailing, wordless cry of triumphal hatred, the Shadow-Wraith tore his Charas from out his chest and slinkingly rose again into the canopy of the great oak.

There, in the shade beneath the great oak, lay the ruined corpse of Thrubas Rendil...The Constable of the Hundred of Merrowmoor. Not for him, his betoken of trysting with his lover Tiaath Arethril, that eventide; not for him, the bright span of togetherness they had envisioned, but a few slender Sundial shadow-spans since passed.