Chapter Six.

The Blades of The Watchful Bastion.

In Rhom; Eldamar had felt again, the tremor in The Light as the barren form of the half-blood youngling was imbued with the black spellcasting of Baelar, and gathered image as the False Beshlie. The tremor was slight, but it'was enough to bestow disquiet to his thoughts. Somewhere; The Darkness had moved, and such movement would, for certain-sure… bode ill... as it had ever done. The youngling Guardians would now be safe in Khallis under the steady, mentoring hand of Thoris Barandor and his Sword-masters. There was little more to be settled in The Matter of The Light, here in Rhom. He would ride back to Calverstock to elicit Elshore's progress with the forging of the new Guardian Swords.

Here, it should be told; as a lesson for the learning… of the Justice of The Light, and how it might make covert requital with the fate of those who would meddle with The Oneness of The Light. As previously foretold; the false Algethi: Ciroth Pendrian had laid intrigue of dalliance with Beshlie of Calverstock for the purpose of eliciting her mien for his Master, The Dark Lord. In this, then might the False Beshlie be truly fashioned in her image. As he laid his intrigue of dalliance to garner his informations, he had shown no wont 'nor design to board her and plunder her Maidenhood; appeasing himself with simple cosset.

T'is deemed that he made choose to seek out the sluts and strumpets of Rhom for his debauched, and licentious carnal pleasures rather than some innocent maiden. In receipt of such choose, he doubtless sated his prurient lust, and was satisfied. He was though, not so satisfied with the tally-less bestowal of some strumpet with whom, he had erstwhile lustfully swived. She betokened him a sturdy measure of a singularly venomous, and virulent pox.

As Darkling kind; for this malady, he had no defence. He languished for the span of three full waxing and wanings of the moon. Long before the skin rash would present itself, the great pox had gnawed and scoured his wits to addle. They knew not why he had tumbled from off the eastern curtain wall of the City. Perhaps, he held imagine as he might fly, in manner of a bird. Perhaps, The Dark Lord had effected his design, and Ciroth Pendrian was held in full expend. No matter. The sum of issue was the same.

He fell two score of cubits into the Plain of Lorenfalu, there to settle upon his feet. Such jarring of settlement shattered both his legs, plunging the splintered bones up into his vitals. He embraced a shrieking span in passing, of three Sundial-shadows 'ere he perished. And there, they left him; hard by the City midden, where he slowly cast off his countenance of Algethi; becoming once again what he had ever been… "Baelar'enin." No more, did he embrace demeanour and likeness of Algethi kind; becoming 'naught, but a shadowy, boneless thing; the like of which, Thallian Beckstrider and his Brotherhood of FionnMhor had run up against that dreadful day in summers distant passed, as they rode The Dark Vale of Windlemoss.

Eldamar came down through The Delvlings; and crossing the sturdy wooden bridgework that spanned the assault rebuttal ditch; rode in through the great gate of Calverstock. Settling Starshadow into the keeping of the Calverstock Ostle-Master, he strode to the forge of Elshore to elicit the lie of sword-fettle for the youngling Guardians. Entering in, he beheld Elshore at anvil, planishing a blade. Eldamar leaned against the doorjamb and watched his Sword-Master laying on hammer, with the sparklets all leaping, for a little while. Then he spoke;

'Good day, Sirrah; how goes the fettle of the Guardian swords?'

Elshore turned;

'Fair morrow, My Lord; The fettle progresses in sturdy accord. The require of Maiden Guardian swords is discharged to the sum of eight blades. I crafted one for Beshlie of Calverstock, even though she shall ride out with the re-fettled Great Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi. There are, but two long-swords for the Male Guardians-in waiting. They lie, seasoning in beeswax, biding their edging.'

He lay down his hammer and turned to a long-chest in the corner of the forge. Lifting the lid, he brought forth a wrapping of cambrick. He held out the same to Eldamar. A contented smile beset his countenance as he spoke;

'See here, My Lord; does this fettle measure your require?'

Eldamar untwined the wrapping. Therein; before his gaze lay the first Great Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi snug, in a glittering Black Adamaunte scabbard, garlanded about its throat with a twining of golden Lothluthil Rowan leaves and beset down its reach with three Amber gems carved in the round, and polished to perfection of sheen. These Ambers were not the fiery orange, as were common Ambers; these gems held a much darker hue… near hazel-nut brown. In the light of the forge-glow; far down in their pellucid hearts, there blazed a spark… a flare of perfect Amber fire. In turning the scabbard about in the light, it would waken the same, and for an instant, they would flame like some birthing infant sun; then, in the losing of the light, the gems would slumber once more.

These gems were cut from the great mother gem that Torbair had elected would be the Eye-stone chosen in the manner of the "Cilme vell Kiira"… Choosing the Gems; with each gem chosen, being the colour of each chooser's eyes… for Beshlie of Calverstock… Chosen Daughter of The Light. The pommel of the Great sword was set with the principal gem held firm within the fresh-crafted remain of the solid pommel… the claws that held the great gem firm, now carved in likeness of three Lothluthil Rowan leaves.

Eldamar unsheathed the sword. Elshore had fettled her even beyond such peerless skill as he had afforded in the past. The sword yet embraced blade reach close on three cubits from pommel to scabbard drag; but held small cumber, and was balanced to perfection. The blade edging glittered a violet-blueness in the soft light of the forge.

Eldamar weighed the sword in hand. 'Aye; Beshlie could wield her with small imposition. He studied the edges. Here could be perceived the curvy grainings of the metal where Elshore had melded in the fresh edgings. Eldamar glanced at Elshore; who smiled;

'Aye, My Lord; freshly melded Leissoreum laid to both edgings for the reach of the blade, and Olistalix-Bane sprinkled, to boot. She will cleave any blade she meets in crossing; even unto a Leissor blade.'

He told that Torbair of Aiuthal had ridden in with two of his Moon-maidens from Elisriendell, three moons since passed; with the scabbard; the great pommel stone, and one lozenge... the rare, and precious "Niirea-Kalhkari"… the teardrop of The Unicorn. The lozenge had been wrapped in a Moonflower petal, fresh plucked and fragrant, and settled to its pocket beneath the pommel. The incantation was laid by the Moon-maidens as the Leissor plug was wound into the pommel and sealed with Corbis wood sap to hold the lozenge safe. The great Amber had then been fitted, and the hindmost Moon-Magick Incantation spoken. In the speaking, the blade had flared a blinding, violet-white light. Elshore evinced, as did Torbair; that this sword was truly now sister blade in her fidelity and power to the mighty Sword of The Light: "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth." This was no Craft-Master preen; 'nay this, he truly believed. Eldamar hearkened to Elshore's tell and smiled.

'Aye; there is small chariness in your notion, old friend; for I feel the power in her; even now. She is, no more, The Great Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi; The Guardians of The Star of The East. Methinks we need bestow upon her a new naming; a naming of The Light. And I have the very one prowling my imagine. Methinks we shall name her "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." 'Aye, t'is a fitting name; for is not the Star of the Morning to be seen hanging in the west; as if, a bright drop of dew upon a thread of spider silk? Further, is it not the self-same star as is The Star of The Evening? See then, the alliance betwixt what she once was, and what she has now become.'

Elshore nodded;

'Aye, My Lord; t'is a worthy naming. The Guardians of The Star of The East will smile upon her endeavours in the name of The Light.'

Eldamar slipped the sword to her sleeping in Torbair's majestic scabbard. He turned again to Elshore saying,

'An you would; leave the fettle, were it prudent to do so. We shall ride this sword to Rhom forthwith, and you shall lay it beside the Mighty Sword of The Light: "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth," upon the great charger borne by the marble image of The High Goddess Elaiana that stands in the Palace Throne-room betwixt the Thrones of Tristan and Talith.'

Hearkening to this tell; Elshore lay down his hammer upon the anvil and made startled gaze at Eldamar, saying;

'My Lord; t'is not my place to do this thing of which you speak. I am, but simple Sword-smith; it is the place of a Lord of the Council to embrace this endeavour.'

Eldamar raised his hand and stayed Elshore's tongue.

'Think you not to demean your worth to The Light in your babble, old friend. You are as worthy as any; perhaps, more worthy than many; for were we in lack of your forge-skills we would as like, yet be hacking at these vermin with common, bastard blade. 'An this were the lie of it; t'is certain-sure we would not have prevailed thus far, and would be now 'naught but scattered bones, with The Light forever tumbled to ruin.'

Elshore blurted

'Nay. My Lord... t'is...'

Eldamar stilled him;

'Lay aside such blather as you would gather in sum of moot upon this issue. For such as I have told is how it shall be. Now; go you and fetch Calelindi, and we shall ride for Rhom.'

As they rode up out of The Delvlings with Rhom in sight before them, it was seen that Calelindi was embraced with a humour, watchful and chary. She looked into the south; her head high, her pretty nose upturned and making sniff the air... as if she were some wild creature.... say... Vixen, or mother wolf in careful regard of her pups. Softly, she spoke...

'Something comes from out of the south, holding us bode of ill. It comes on apace, and is malevolent to our cause. Come! Let us lay on swiftness to our ride for the City.'

Eldamar and Elshore knew too well of the intuitions of Calelindi and her kind to gainsay her prenotion. Laying heel to mount, they made gallop for Rhom.

Once secure within the great curtain wall, Calelindi cast to flight her eagle that had flown the broad, easterly Ride through The Delvlings a little before them, beneath the canopy of the greening all the while; as they rode out from Calverstock. It wheeled into the skies above Rhom; higher and higher, 'till it was 'naught, but a speck in the endless blue. Then, it turned into the south, and was lost from sighting over the Knoll of Rhyddu.

Within the passing of little beyond the span of one-half of a Sundial-shadow, it came down in the return. Making settle upon Calelindi's arm, it huddled to her hearken. As they watched, they perceived her countenance harden. She gazed up at them and spoke, as the eagle ceased its commune with her.

'He tells of a ride of Darkling vermin coming up from the south. He is unlettered in tally, but lays fair assumption they be in sum, something beyond ten-score. He tells that they ride evil beasts as might be called Wolverine, but are sturdier. These creatures run not as does a horse; but with both legs to the one side thrown forwardly at the same time… and they possess a frightsome turn of speed.'

Tristan; who had come forth in greetings; turned to Eldamar saying,

'Chutaks! No matter; we are secure. We have the watchtower chain, and too, the Enchanted Girdle. My watchtowers are sturdy-built upon rock and may not be tumbled, as were the wind-swept, and rickety stones of the Cove of Poulna. There shall be no breach of The Girdle in this place.'

Eldamar beheld Tristan with steady gaze, then spoke;

'Think you not to preen too soon, my son. Remember you, the fate of the first High Watchtower of Ling. They made boast then that it would ever deny the progress of the Darklings, and yet; The Mordbrood of Valdarthost tumbled it to slighting complete, within the span of three-quarters of a Sundial-shadow.'

Tristan looked to Eldamar with a stare that beheld not a little jade;

'Aye, but The Mordbrood held Regiment; these Chutaks maraud in throng...'

He perceived the look that came to his father's face and swiftly held his tongue. T'was the look that Tristan had seen, but once before; and had not wished to see again. T'was the self-same look he had seen when he told Eldamar of the fate of Eldamar's bond-mate, Arlanna. Eldamar spoke;

'Hearken you this, Tristan; and hearken you well. This thing that prowls in the shadows of times yet to come; this thing that Laumil has laid to name as "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days," will stand all that has gone before in less issue than some roistering tavern brawl. You think that Horanaurk and Chutak; Shadow-Wraith and Baelar'enin are the worst horrors that might spew forth from out The Abyss? Then ponder anew, my son. The Dark Lord will squander any score in the matter of prevailing in this final, and determinant battle of The Eternal Watchtower. He would have us go down into The Darkness with all we hold as true, laid to ruin at his feet. What he may bring forth… we cannot know; but know you this… whatever it might be, it shall be terrible.'

Tristan beheld his father with solemn accord. There was no more discourse to be garnered from this. He knew that Eldamar spoke truth, and was discomfited by his overweening notion of the fitness of his defences. Eldamar saw Tristan's discomposure and chose not to press the issue. Rather; he laid assertion that they should repair to the Palace; there, to lay down the sword that Elshore carried swathed in cambrick, beside its kin.

They progressed into great Throne-room and stood before the peerless marble image of The High Goddess Elaiana, that stood betwixt the Thrones of Tristan and Talith. Elshore unswaddled the Great Sword, "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." Bearing her in his hands, he stepped forwards to the marble image presenting the charger whereon lay the mighty Sword of The Light: "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth."

With singular reverence, Elshore laid the sword beside her kin; the black scabbard alongside the scabbard of gold. As he stepped back; at first, so softly… as it might be imagine; so faintly… as it might be wishful fancy; they beheld a shimmer in the great, fiery Amber pommel stone of "Runya en Numen." A shimmer that gathered and swelled 'till they needs-must turn their full gaze from the blinding brightness of it.

From the blazing Amber there crept tendrils of golden-orangy radiance that enfolded the pommel stone of "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." Deep in the heart of this dark Amber, the bright fleckings burst forth in fiery accord until the pommel stones of both swords pained the eyes. One by the one, the Amber gems set down the reach of the scabbards flared in oneness with the pommel stones. As they gazed in sidelong squint at the fiery brilliance, it seemed that the flawless marble countenance of the image of The High Goddess Elaiana held a whisper of a smile upon her exquisitely-carven lips.

T'was, as like; this were a chouse of the flickering light…a deceit of the eye. No matter; for t'was certain sure that this laid true, that the new sword "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" was now embraced by her sister blade into The Oneness of The Light; and such wondrous power as was bestowed upon "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" was herewith bestowed in kind upon "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning."

As softly as it had begun; the brilliant flaring of the Ambers diminished until, once again, the two scabbarded swords lay sleeping upon the white marble charger. For a little while, there was no word laid in the Throne-room. They had not known what might ensue with the meeting of the swords; but they had not supposed it would be this thing which they had most recently beheld. Eldamar broke the voice-struck hush;

'T'would seem in this splendid congruity of swords, the two Chosen Daughters of The Light now have the true weapons with which they may prosecute their destinies. Methinks The Darkness now has much to fear and dread in the matter of my daughter, Kathalyn Seregon, called too; The Golden Child; and her Sword-sister, Beshlie of Calverstock.'

In Khallis, the youngling Guardians were embracing the tutelage of the Thuvian Sword-masters with singular accord. Thoris Barandor had elected that they be tutored too, in the vicious skills of his Khuzud-Mahin. These though, were not the Khuzud-Mahin of the times of the Thuvian Lord Filar.

Thoris Barandor had been emplaced as the newly chosen Thuvian Lord for scarcely a handful of summers, when came The Mordbrood from off the Plain of Malphaers. In the battle of the High Pass of Ling, he had lost three, and one-half Legions of his Khuzud-Mahin maids. The remembrance of the Horror; the proud dismay of beholding his cohorts of Khuzud maids charging up the Pass; their eyes bright and wild in the embrace of the Dark drink of the Khuzud Berserk, still prowled his dreaming in the night.

Screaming and howling, full in the Berserk; they had whirled into the very teeth of the massed host of The Mordbrood of Valdarthost advancing down the Pass. Such as Barandor had this day held to his sight, was recklessly heroic far beyond any commonly embraced imagine of heroic. And as he beheld the Flower of Khallis plucked to the losing, by hew of Darkling blade; with tears to his eyes, he swore unto himself in solemn oath, that never again, would he countenance the Khuzud-Mahin maids of Khallis to ride out in the Berserk.

To this end; when the last pyre of his fallen Khuzud was fully spent upon the Pavilion of Silence, and their ashes had drifted down into the Well of Gatherment; Thoris Barandor, Thuvian Lord of Clan Buhrodar, stood in the Khallis Citadel Chamber where sat the Korin-Throng, and laid implacable command that all store of the Dark drink of the Khuzud Berserk be broached to wasting. The fresh Khuzud-Mahin would no more ride as Berserkers. Rather; they would become Assault cavalry. More, the tubs and engines of stillage that crafted the Dark drink were to be slighted, and cast away down some faraway, worked-out mineshaft. Barandor himself would oversee this endeavour.

There was much mutter and mumble that prowled about the Korin-Throng, but; the word of the Clan Lord was The Law, and so it would be done. There was yet more sturdy mutter amongst the Khuzud-Mahin... in the main, the seasoned survivors of old Filar's Legions. How then, might they... when their time came upon them; sit in the Halls of Seithynnor... the Afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes, with their forebears; and feast forever, upon red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer, all boasting their prowess at war.... were there no prowess of the Berserk to make boast of? For Barandor's command, they cared not at all. They held the same as patent nonsense; it flew in the face of the sum of all that was held as truth of being Khuzud-Mahin.

So it was; a covenant of deceit was laid in their quarters. Even as this deceit was hatched, t'was seen it bore a flaw of sturdy demeanour. For, as has been previous-told in the Volumes; Thuvian-folk did not lie. In this; should Barandor hear tell of the intrigue, and put the question; then the one to whom t'was laid, needs must speak the truthing of this thing. Thus, would the intrigue be unmasked. Knowing this; beset the plotters with discontent. Many candles were burnt down as they pondered their conundrum. Nonetheless; they were resolved that the true way of Khuzud-Mahin could not be suffered to become the pale shadow of what it once had been, were the Thuvian Lord's Command to be embraced. Assault cavalry indeed! They were Berserkers; the very whisper of their name caused Darklings to fill breeches in terror! Ponder as they might; the Khuzud maids could not elicit any manner by how the deceit might be employed in lack of the chance of one, or more of them being caused to lay the lie. They languished in despond until…a most unforeseen ally came forth.

One night, as they reposed in vain mutter and ponder in their quarters, there came a soft tapping upon the door. Opening the same, they beheld Falani Gildar; Grand Dame of Khallis, standing without. As she stepped into the company, a silence so thick as to be cut with a blade fell about. She smiled at those there, saying…

'Stand not in dismay at my finding you gathered herein. I know of your supposed intrigue, and I have a resolve. I am not here in snoop for My Lord; so if you would hearken to what I would lay before you; contemplate this, in kind. Thoris Barandor is a fair, and kindly Lord. His command in concern of estoppel of the Berserk is born out of his remembrance of that dreadful day in the High Pass of Ling; when he beheld the Lord Filar's cohorts of Khuzud-Mahin go down into The Darkness. He laid oath upon himself that never more would this thing come to pass… not whilst he yet abode as Lord of Clan Buhrodar.

Even now, he embraces dark and terrible dreams of the losing of those maids, and trembles in my arms in the dark of the night as if he were a youngling beset by the night terrors. Be kind to him, and do not judge him harshly; for in his way, he means only to protect you… his Flower of Khallis. You needs-must hold in remembrance that he is Erinthorean, and knows not the true culture of Khuzud-Mahin. For my part, I do know the full sum of this culture. My mother was Faluan; she came into the Sisterhood of Khuzud-Mahin after the Sack of Rhom. Many were the tales she told me when I was at her knee, in regard of the battle in The High Pass of Ling. Many were the sisters she lost in those Glorious Berserks. My mother too, was almost lost on that last, dreadful day at Ling when she stood in the defensive circle holding off The Mordbrood. She took three black arrows, and was only snatched from her doom by Beckstrider and his last few of The Brotherhood of FionnMhor. They drew three, and one half-score of Khuzud from out of the clutches of The Mordbrood Horde. The remainder of her cohort perished horribly. So, you need not lay tell to me of the culture you embrace, for my mother has tutored me well in this matter. This is why I shall bestow upon you such benefact as you would have of me.'

The Khuzud maids beheld her in silence. They had not held barter of such as this. The Khuzud Centuri; a sturdy Thuvian-maid above the common reach in standing; by name: Ragan Galed was the first to speak.

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'How then, might you suppose to bestow us benefact, My Lady?'

Falani Gildar smiled once again.

'I sense a chary in your words, Ragan Galed. Aye; I know you. Look you not askant, for I know you all. Think you that, as Grand Dame of Khallis, I live in some high, marble tower in seclusion from the world I share with you? Then, think again, my sisters; for that is what you are. Thoris was lowly House-Carl to the Lord Filar before the choose of fate raised him to Clan Lord. I was 'prentice armourer, crafting Leissor links for the chain mail corselet of Queen Cirion of Shandalar. We are of the commonage of Khallis… as are you. So now, hearken to my intrigue, and see how you ween the same.'

She told that it was the resolve of Thoris that the store of barrels of the Dark drink of the Khuzud Berserk be taken from out the Citadel and waggoned away to some distant, abandoned mine shaft. There, they would be broached; the sum of issue be gushed down the shaft, and the barrels tumbled in after them. Thoris would ride out and oversee the whole. The deceit of Falani Gildar would be to bring out an equal sum of empty barrels and charge them with plain water. The Dark drink was of a pale, yellowy-amber hue. T'would be no imposition to lay in to each barrel a handful 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.

Then, to Thoris's bored, and careless glance as he sat for half-a-day upon his horse beholding the broaching; the gush of pale, yellowy content would as like, hold notion of the gushing as being the Dark drink. Whilst Thoris was employed in overseeing; the barrels of the true Dark drink could be meeched away to the cellars of the Khallis Redoubt to lie covert 'till their sum of content might be again be called upon.

Here; t'would deem prudent to lay tell of the standing of the youngling Guardians. In sum, they stood as seven. It should be told that when the Council of The Light had gathered at the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere; Eldamar had mooted that the require of forge for Guardian Swords would stand in sum, as nine. The scribes of the Volumes embraced this moot as how it would be; nine would ride out as one. This; in truth, were a nonsense.

Two of the youngling Guardians-to-be, were fully in lack of gather in sum of summers to effectuate such an enterprise. Mirien; Calamar; and Eilanna's first-born; held span of seven summers, and Klara; the first-born of Trillian and Serena, was in gather of a gentle four summers in sum. In truth, when came the "Advent of The End of the Shining Days," t'would be these seven who rode out:

From out of the west would ride The Golden Child, Kathalyn Seregon… her brother, Tharlan; and Beshlie of Calverstock, in company with her younger sister, Tarelena. From the north out of Shandalar would ride Princess Serissea and her brother… Prince Calahmir. There too, would ride in their company… Kerrall; son of Lokari and Tahkaiia.

Kerrall, Serissea, and Calahmir had no cause to journey to tutelage as did the other youngling Guardians. For, in the Autarchic Fiefdom of Lokaria wherein Khanis was settled as Lord Protector with Gwythlyn as his Lady in the Shire Seat of Khanlyn; Lokari had raised a place of learning within the settlement where the Lokarians were trained in the arts of the sword and the bow.

Lokari; as Master of War in the Shire Seat of Khanlyn, had tutored the youngling Guardians in this place. Gwythlyn had bestowed upon them her Art of the Wraith-Hunter; a skill that was rarely, now seen. This skill, she had honed, and brought full to perfection in them; as had Ghlinngar the Seer so brought the same to perfection in her, in days now distantly passed, far away in Yeranoor.

Gwythlyn and Khanis shared sweetness of bond, but still… there was no issue. As previously told in the Volumes; Algethi females held a measure of sway over their bodies, and to some lengths, could choose not to conceive. This was commonly manifested when there was danger of war. For, with such choice; then the females were free to take up arms with their bond-mates in common accord. This had ever been the nature of the Algethi.

Gwythlyn had presage of how the shadows were creeping. She foresaw "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days," and chose to stand as mentor, rather than mother. Beyond the tutelage of the youngling Guardians, the Fiefdom of Lokaria was "Sangencrist," or "Weapons Gather" to Shandalar. There were many Lokarians to be tutored. There would be time enough for motherhood when The Light was secure.

In Khallis; the youngling Guardians were embracing the skills of the Thuvian Sword-Masters. When all thrust and parry, slash and hack were at length, grasped; Falani Gildar; Grand Dame of Khallis took the Guardian maids to hand and presented them with the manner specific, of how best to wield the "Dushrakhas," the vicious "Tarak-splitter" sword of the Khuzud-Mahin. These swords were of close ilk to those that Elshore had forged for them... one-half, and one-cubit from pommel to tip; the slender blade softly sweeping up, double-edged; and having no cross-guard. The hilt gently curved away, much in the fashion of Deerhunters' paunching knife, but far more deadly. They were beautiful blades; flawless in balance, the weighting… perfection. Indeed, they were as graceful as a curved, swallow's wing.

The swords they would tutor with were securely blunted; for had they held edge, the peril of tutelage would be grim indeed. As Falani cautioned had them; the "Dushrakhas," were it edged, might… were a slovenly, or heedless sweep of blade be gifted; strike arm away, full at the shoulder with, but, one swift stroke.

The manner of wield of the "Dushrakhas" was not the same as the wield of the common Arming sword; sometimes called the War sword. Such a sword as this was double-edged, and straight bladed; in reach of blade not beyond two cubits, and having cross-guard and pommel. It was employed in stab and hack. The "Dushrakhas" was far more artful. T'was rarely used to stab; more… t'was commonly laid in sweep and lunge.

Whilst Falani Gildar enlightened the maid Guardians in the percipience of the "Dushrakhas;" Thoris Barandor was laying Tharlan in acquaint of the other dreadful Thuvian harbinger of the shrieking doom. For, in truth; there was small sum of sword skill that he might tutor to Tharlan; so well had Tristan and Trillian mentored him. So; Thoris brought forth one of the dreadful, short-hafted "Baelnyr"… the Thuvian Blood-axe; so designed for use in close slaughter and hand-to-hand mayhems. Even in his gatherment of slender store of summers, Tharlan smiled... a smile that bestowed a shudder upon Thoris. And Thoris beheld; plain as word-writ parchment; that here, was the instinctive weapon of choice of the son of Eldamar.

And so it was; Tharlan favoured the terrible "Baelnyr," even as a bird favours spreading wings and lifting into the skies. In beholding the deftness of the youngling's plying of this vicious renderer of limb; Thoris Barandor embraced a silent, heartfelt thankfulness that he was not of Darkling breed, being obliged to face this youngling Guardian of The Light on some distant battlefield. Tharlan was, even now, in receipt of no more gather than ten, and four summers; what then, might he yet become when he left his youngling days in trail?

As Thoris Barandor beheld Tharlan make sturdy wield, and practice hew with the dreadful "Baelnyr;" he made recall a thing that Tristan had apprised him of, when at the first, the youngling Guardians were brought into the charge of Khallis. The Sword-Master of Rhom had told that Kathalyn and Beshlie embraced by instinct, the sword skills of The Old Ways. He had told that they stood in receipt of a humour as deadly as any predator. The Guardians of The Light had ever embraced a martial valour. This tell of the Master-at-Arms whispered of something other than such accepted demeanour… for the Old Ways were the ways of mayhems and slaughter. When came the need to butcher your foe, why then, you fell back upon the Old Ways.

Thoris beheld the same demeanour in Tharlan as he wielded the "Baelnyr." Would then, this distant, supposed peril of what was called "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days" be so terrible, that Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being" was, even now; dreaming a wrathful Dream, to cause these two Chosen Daughters of The Light to ride out in company with this deadly Guardian brother of The Golden Child, to affront and confound such reckless hate?

This was not The Way of The Light. There would be small measure of martial valour when these three Guardians engaged the minions of The Darkness arrayed against them. This would be the Red Dawn of Carnage; this would be the hew and splatter of the charnel. One or the other… be it The Oneness of The Light, or The Gather of The Darkness; would be ruined forever. What was, at the first; a tutelage of sword, now stood in reveal of a cloaked instinct for wicked, and merciless mayhems. And Thoris Barandor; Thuvian Lord of Clan Buhrodar, could but hope that all as had ever been spoken of, and presaged in the matter of The Golden Child was no wishful cozen.

None but Kerrall; son of Lokari and Tahkaiia, embraced demeanour of martial valour... the true way of the Guardians of The Light. But then; he had, at the first, been tutored by his father in the Halls of Tutelage of the Shire seat of Khanlyn; and such demeanour would, as like, temper the bearing of his comrades.

There was, though, a singular peril for Kerrall in this. Martial valour was not a notion the vermin of the Abyss embraced; and Thoris Barandor was fretful that such valour might well be Kerrall's undoing. He need not have fretted. Kerrall shared with his mother, Tahkaiia; the peerless malice she had held in her Loki form for all Darklings; no matter what be their cast, or creed. He was beset with a cold, and wily humour, made yet the more deadly by his embrace of the ways of The Light.

In Calverstock; Elshore had laid the blade of the second Long-sword into the white-heat heart of his forge-bed in readiness for the fettle of hammer-kiss against anvil. As he watched the colours of temper creep up the reach of the infant blade towards forging heat; first… saffron; then blood-red, then cherry; and then, at length… pale, golden straw… in temper of strength and fidelity through all the blade length, full trustworthy, with never a flaw; he sensed that he was not alone in his forge.

Turning; he beheld a maiden standing close by his anvil; a peerlessly beautiful maiden. She was golden-haired, and her eyes were a perfect, forget-me-not blue. She held measure of some three, and one-half cubits, and her stature was exquisitely feminine. But then, here stood a curiousness. The maiden was wreathed about with a beautiful, soft, golden radiance.

Elshore stood, and made stare in wonder at this maiden. He had hearkened to 'naught of her coming, and the forge door ever gave creak and screak as it was pushed ajar. His wonder was cast from him as the fettle tongs in his hand embraced the heat of the blade they were clutching, and scorched his grasp. Swiftly; he brought the blade to anvil and laid all thereon. The maiden smiled, and then spoke; her voice was a softness, as gentle as a summer breeze stroking the grasses of the golden meadows of the Shining Lands.

'Fear you not; Master Elshore. I mean you no harm beyond the gentle scorch of grasp you have recently embraced. I am Menelwen; Handmaiden to Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." The Great Mother has sent me to you to fulfil the beholden of The Light for your peerless attendance to the wonts of The Light. Much is owed to you for your tireless crafting of swords for The Guardians. In this; The Great Mother has resolved to embrace you fully in Her Dreaming.'

She smiled; a soft, and beautiful smile, then spoke further...

'From this day forth; you are no more, Elshore; Master Sword-smith of Elisriendell. You are now Elshore; Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower. Stand you now to me, and espouse The Grace of The Great Mother.'

She beckoned Elshore to stand before her, and laid her hands upon his shoulders. The soft, golden radiance that wreathed about her now crept about Elshore, embracing him complete. She spoke again.

'Enfold about yourself now, the significance of the Exalted Baldomar, First, and only Blade-Master to The Light in The Age of The Beginnings. Take into your hands all the knowing of sword-fettle that ever there was; and that ever there shall be...'

The forge door creaked, and there stood Eldamar; who watched with astonished gaze as the soft, golden radiance faded from it's envelop of Elshore as the maiden lifted her hands from his shoulders. She turned, and gazing upon Eldamar, spoke.

'I bid you felicitations from The Great Mother, My Lord Guardian of The Light. Behold your comrade, Elshore; now espoused as Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower. Mayhap, you should now embrace him within the Fellowship of The Knights of The Eternal Watchtower, as his newly-sprung standing now warrants.'

Eldamar laid curious gaze upon this maiden; then softly, crept the notion of what he saw before him. He murmured.

'I know of you; I have taken in the tell of a scribed parchment concerning your countenance and demeanour…'

The maiden smiled; a soft, and gentle smile.

'Aye; you know of me from the poesy apprised to you by Jhastor The Shadow-Watcher of Raventhorn Scar. I was indeed once, long ago, She, who was called by name, Shadaiia en'Carnelyr… The Shining One; Wellspring of the Truth of The Light. Now, I am come again as Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars.

I am Hand-maiden to The Great Mother, and have journeyed from out of Carmanthyr … The Tranquil Island, where I dwell with my long-lost love... he, who once, was Elrohir Linwelin, Craftmaster of weapons; and too, poet and word-smith. T'was his poesy to me that you would have seen. In the reading, your best hope you held for us has prevailed. The High Goddess Elaiana did indeed, enswathe us about in Her Gentle Dreaming so that we might be as one; in some other time... in some other place.'

Perceiving Eldamar's gentle smile and nod of head as he remembered those words he had spoken to Jhastor; she made continuance of her speak.

'I am "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars. The two mighty Star-Swords of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi; The Guardians of The Star of The East, are reclaimed from The Darkness. You have named the first: "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." We are content with this naming and the sword shall be settled as "Everanthil"… "A Blade of The Watchful Bastion." The Chosen Daughter of The Light, by name of Beshlie of Calverstock is settled as her Bond-Mistress.

The second Star-Sword is sharded to ruin. Elshore; Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower, shall cause her to be reborn. She shall be crafted in like manner, as "Amrun Tarsi" was so crafted, and shall embrace image of the same; as if perceived in a looking glass. There shall though, be one alterity; She shall be pommel-stoned with this…'

The maiden held open her hand. There nestling in her palm, lay a Moonstone. T'was, perhaps, a little beyond a wood pigeon's egg in measure; a shimmering, milky gem that Eldamar bethought as close likeness to the Moonstone pommelled in "Lossehelin Ruthuviel"… Torbair of Aiuthal's great sword of the Old Moon-Magick.

Menelwen; Keeper of The Stars, smiled.

'Your notion stands you true, My Lord Eldamar. It is indeed kin to the Moonstone in Torbair of Aiuthal's great sword. Both gems were cut from the one mighty gem by the Moon maiden Lorien; Forge-Mistress of Lothluthil; and this gem I hold, has tarried for summers beyond measure 'ere a sword of her worth came to our hand. When, at length, the crafting is accomplished, the sword shall be named "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East;" and shall too, be "Everanthil"… "A Blade of The Watchful Bastion;" as is Torbair of Aiuthal's Great sword of the Old Moon Magic… "Lossehelin Ruthuviel." Her Bond-Master shall be your first-born son; Tharlan of Arlanronde.'

Here; it should be told that such a sword as is called "Everanthil"... a "Blade of The Watchful Bastion" is perceived as being a rareness beyond all as might be held in imagine as rareness. A Blade of The Watchful Bastion is beset with enchantment far beyond common enchantment. At the first; a Blade of The Watchful Bastion will bond with the one for whom it was forged, and no other. If another, who is not Bond-Master of the blade should strive to wield it in lack of common assent of Bond-Master and Blade; then, the Blade will deny drawing from scabbard.

If it be forfeited of grip in affray and should tumble to the ground; any who is not the Bond-Master may not lift it up. It shall cling to where it has fallen, even as a 'pothick's leech clings to the one who is afflicted.

Should the trespasser at length, prevail to raise it up; then, at the first sweep, the blade will turn in upon itself and cut down that one who would seek to wield it.

When beset by The Darkness; the Bond-Master may call upon his blade in the Ancient Tongue of The Singing Woods of Lothluthil… wherewith; the pommelled Moonstone of the sword will shine forth brighter and brighter, 'till it casts out, and about a pale, and brilliant light; like as that, of a Hunter's Moon; lighting the way for its Bond-Master.

Each such blade is said to be watched over by The Goddess of The Moon: Ethiriel, who sits at the right hand of Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." Ethiriel keeps jealous watch over her Blades of The Watchful Bastion, and if a Bond-Master becomes adjudged; by deed or misdeem, unfit to wield the blade, and is no longer worthy of this awesome power; then he shall be cut down by his own sword.

Previously told in the Tarsius is the myth of the Great Tree - The Mother Tree of Valediction; called "Tel'Ornamarie," deep in the Enchanted Forests. Here, t'is whispered, such Algethi whose span is close-run; will hang their swords, their bows, and their jewels upon her branches as they pass by on their last great journey. T'was ever imagined, Blades of The Watchful Bastion would here too, be emplaced; being there for the taking now their Bond-Masters had passed on.

T'is, but a sweet, and plaintive tale, much revered by minstrels and tellers of tales; for such possessions are, in truth, left in the keeping of their kin, to be passed down through the generations to those who stand worthy of the receipt. Many, beset by greed and avarice and the lust for the power of a Blade of The Watchful Bastion, have winnowed the Forests in seek of "Tel'Ornamarie." She has never been found, for she does not exist; and many have become hopelessly lost in the searching, and have perished.

This now, may simply be the fate apportioned to those so foolish as to prospect the pathless forests blinded by greed and avarice. Then again; perhaps, it is the will of the jealous Goddess of The Moon: Ethiriel, to heap such retribution upon the heads of those who would seek to turn such blades to their own advantage.

Menelwen passed the Moonstone to the hand of Eldamar. He and Elshore bent to make study the gem. When they turned again, Menelwen, Keeper of The Stars was not there. They had not seen or heard her passing. Eldamar looked to Elshore, then spoke…

'So; old friend; Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower, you are now. Methinks you needs must be preferred as Companion of The Eternal Watchtower, 'an you would have it so; for t'would seem I am bidden by The Oneness of The Light to make it so. Well then; what say you, my faithful Forge-Master?'

Elshore stood voiceless for a little while. Then he spoke.

'T'would seem, I have small sum of choose in the matter; for, to my common surmise it is a thing accomplished; and, as like… a thing that cannot be undone. So, 'aye if you would have it so, then so shall it be.'

He turned again to his anvil, to where the blade he had been crafting, when Menelwen, Keeper of The Stars had appeared; lay cooling and tinkling. Lifting it up with his forge tongs, he thrust the blade back into the whiteness of the heart of the forge-bed. Laying on vigour of bellowing, he watched as the colours began to rise again. Eldamar spoke,

'Tell me now; how stands fettle of this wondrous blade of which she has spoken?'

Elshore cast respond over his shoulder as he studied the swim of colours.

'What you see there, on the fettle bench yonder, is the spine of the blade. The sword was too far sharded to re-fettle 'less I gave it forge-weld. In this t'would, as like, hold no sturdiness. So; I laid the shards to furnace pot and moulded the melt into this spine. When t'is fettled in sum, then shall I craft her as I did with the first spoiled sword we now call by name: "Amrun Tarsi." This spine of the blade shall be all fettled about with cutting edges of Leissoreum in manner the same as the first. She shall be a worthy blade for Tharlan; son of the Lord Guardian of The Light. I shall take her up once more when this last Long-sword is crafted.'

As the bright days of summer slipped soft into the time of the golden tumble of the leaves, and the cold winds gathered and gusted in from off the grey, flinty mountains far to the west; the youngling Guardians were mentored to readiness in Martial endeavours. Out on the plains of Khallis, under the watchful eye of Ragan Galed, the Khuzud Centuri; the younglings engaged in mock skirmish with the 'prentice Khuzud-Mahin maids as they were tutored in the craft of mounted mayhems. Soon enough, they mastered this skill; soon enough Thoris Barandor elected their tutelage was complete. There was little more that might be taught them in Khallis.

So it was; as the skies became pale with the promise of the white beast's coming; the younglings made to stand forth in the return to their homes. As they assembled behind the Khallis Redoubt; Barandor's Armourer… Nalgar Brak came forth. He passed over a wrapment to Barandor, who beckoned Tharlan, and spoke, saying;

'Take you now, this bestowal of Khallis so it might be your strength and provider in the Mayhems yet to come.'

He loosed the wrapment and brought forth a fresh-forged "Baelnyr"…a Thuvian Blood-axe. A vicious, yet magnificent crafting; it held blade edge close to one cubit span. T'was forged from a yellowy-brown metal the Thuvians called Bronze. The hewing edge was of Leissor, and it beheld an oaken haft of sturdier reach than a common Blood-axe. And too; it stood in receipt of a wicked spike to the behindwards side of the blade head, beyond where the blade-head proper embraced the haft about with a pair of sturdy shanks. This, so the Blood-axe might be swung either way, with each manner of swing bestowing a dreadful imposition upon whom it was so swung.

The blade-head bore not the common Thuvian symbols and cyphers as did common Blood-axes. More; t'was 'bellished with Charybon Runic signets, and images of the Lothluthil Rowan leaf; being the symbols of The Light. As the youngling Guardians gazed in awe at this fearsome weapon, Barandor spoke again;

'The Armourer-Master; Nalgar Brak, has bestowed naming to this Blood-axe, as is common habit for Thuvian arms. He has named her: "Rindrengi"…"Widowmaker," though t'is a consummately unfitting name for the task to which she shall be employed. Darklings hold no common bonding, as do Algethi and Thuvian kind. In truth, they may hold no bonding at all. So, t'would seem that you needs must seek another naming for her, young warrior; an Algethi naming that will suit her to her purpose.'

Tharlan nodded. As he bestowed word of fulsome gratitude to Thoris Barandor; he had… even as he spoke; settled upon the new naming for this terrible device of the shrieking doom. This Blood-axe would, from this day henceforth, be named: "Arlannafeide"… "The Vengeance of Arlanna." This; in memory of his mother. The mother whom he had never known; her having perished at the malignant, creeping hand of The Darkness scarce a moon span beyond his birthing.

Thoris Barandor; Thuvian-Lord of Clan Buhrodar stood at the great gate of the Khallis Redoubt to bid the youngling Guardians farewell. With him stood Falani Gildar; Grand Dame of Khallis. As the younglings made ready to ride out, Falani called to them;

'Remember; return you here in a pair of summers hence, for the fitment of "Brynloklad" and Leather.'

This was the Bull Mammoth hide and Leissor chain mail armour of crafting, the same as the Armour that Kyla Dinush had chosen for Cirion, those summers since passed. This Armour echoed the style of the Thuvian Berserker. T'was the finest… of subtle design, all cunning protection, and masterly guile. Fashioned for ease, and for swiftness of movement. It would serve these new Guardians of The Light to the same sturdy advantage as it had so done to Cirion, Warrior Ice Queen of Shandalar.

So it was; the youngling Guardians rode away in company with a squadron of Khuzud-Mahin maids who would watchfully shepherd them all down through the Khallis wastelands to the borders of Lorenfalu. There, they would be met by Trillian's cavalry troopers who would ride them on to Rhom. The ride would span perhaps, four Sundial-shadows; and all the while, to easterly could be perceived the baneful prowl and slink of Shadow-Wraiths all along the watchtower chain of Rhyddu.

At length, they came down upon the Badger Grove below the watchtower of Firgen Pike. Here; they were at the very borders of Lorenfalu; and here, waited Trillian's cavalry. The Khuzud-Mahin squadron wheeled about in their farewells, and rode back into the north. The Cavalry troopers formed about the younglings and rode for Rhom; watched all the while by the flitting and wailing Shadow-Wraiths that trailed the company, even unto the shadows of the walls of the City.

The youngling Guardians each returned to their homesteadings beset with stalwart escort as the skies became pale, and the white beast of winter loomed in the west. There would be no more gather of tutelage until the spring crept soft, into the Shining Lands. All would seem well. The Darklings yet prowled the Enchanted Girdle, but there had been no further breaches. Patrols were commonly ridden from Arlanronde; from Calverstock; from Shandalar, and the Shire Seat of Khanlyn. The Shadaiians patrolled the northwesterly reaches down to the far reaches of Raventhorn. Laumil's Rangers, The Riders of Lothleitha, and the Nemesis of Lothluthil held the far west, and the reaches of Elisriendell. On occasion, there was to be seen the singular blue flash and gout of flaming as some witless Chutak blundered into "The Chain that Shimmers Beyond Sighting;" but, in the main; no incurse was prosecuted.

Eldamar though, still felt a tremor in The Light. Something was stirring out there. He could not know of what was now manifest out to northerly west on the Great Plains of Yeranoor. In the Farmstead hard by the crumbling Moat-Tower of Ghlinngar the Seer, the Female "Baelar'enin" in cloak of the comely Faerie maiden who had seduced the Malcontent Lordling, Rinil Farondar and then enticed him to his dreadful doom in the clutches of the Enchanted Girdle; now raised the half-blood offspring of her deceit... this youngling, who would become the harbinger of doom to the Matter of The Light; this youngling who embraced the changeling spellbind of The Abyss; this youngling who now blossomed as the False Beshlie of Calverstock.

As previously told; such half-bloods, being "Baelar'enin" offspring, embraced gather of summers, close on six times that of an Algethi. Thus, it would be disposed to insinuate itself into the Company of The Light, a summer hence. There, it could prevail in manner of viper in the bosom, awaiting its chance to confound the challenge of The Light to "The Advent of The End of the Shining Days." And, as the winter beast stalked the Yeranoor Shadowlands and the Chutak Hordes huddled in their dismal lairs; the Faerie maid in the distant, and lonely Farmstead slyly perfused the youngling's willing mind with pernicious hatred.

The season of the White beast came screaming out of the grey, flinty mountains, choking the Shining Lands in a mantle of snow and ice, many cubits in deeping. All about the forests could be heard the crack of tree stocks as the sap froze therein. In Calverstock, the little Calver beck was 'naught, but a rill of ice; and the falls of Calverstock Gill were now a curtain of the same. There would be no journeying abroad for many moons; a pair of Sundial shadow-spans spent out on the plains would, for certain- sure, freeze the very blood of he; or she, so foolish as to venture forth. There would be no prospect of scrutiny of the settling points of the Enchanted Girdle 'till, at best, the falling of Eostre; but then… neither would the minions of The Darkness be prowling abroad.

The snows prevailed far beyond Eostre. T'was not 'till the tenth Esbat of the fourth full-moon that the melt was in full flux. Here, there came a further peril. Such was the sum of thaw that the little Calver beck deluged in spate, sweeping away thirty full cubits reach of the eastern palisade of Calverstock. As the palisade had tumbled, it had crushed three of Callam's guards. On hauling the palisade timbers from off them, it was found that all had perished. So came to pass the fresh season in sorrowing. Mayhap, t'was a portent of things to come.