Chapter Ten.

The "Haldrig en'Seregnir"... The Necromancers.

The young Rhom trooper, Huran Sildeth rode hard for Calverstock. As he galloped the broad way through The Delvlings, he was beset with foreboding as to what lay to the future. He had never faced affray; let alone, prosecuted a War. He held too slender a span of summers to have been concerned with the Siege of Rhom; and was, but a Garrison trooper. He fretted that he might be found wanting by his comrades. His brooding was not helped by that, which he perceived as he turned his hurtling steed through the crook of the broad way that led into the easterly reach of Fairbeech Hollow.

To his right-most hand; all along the border of the hollow, dangled the bloated, and festering carcasses of Elarin Dalthriel and her band of scoundrels. As he burst into the hollow, a throng of crows and magpies that had been pecking and tearing at the carcasses rose in clattering and squawking cavil into the treetops. Striving to avert his affrighted gaze from the blackened countenances that glared down at him with glazed and bulging, unseeing eyes, and out-thrust, swollen tongues as they swung upon their ropes in their last, maggoty dance; Huran Sildeth shuddered, and urged his mount ever onwards towards Calverstock.

Far away to the west; in the deep greening of the Forest of Elisriendell, at the place of the Sisterhood of Lothleitha; one of the maidens who had stood with The Forces of The Light at the battle of Rhyddu, but rode no more, and had embraced standing of Armourer; beheld the despatch Merlin out of Rhom sweeping in from the east. She held forth her arm as the Merlin overflew; thence, turning as only a Merlin may turn, alighted thereon; beak agape in panting from its speedy progression of Amriath. The maiden, Selya; made gentle cosset and stroke of the hawk and with singular care, loosed the rolled scrap of parchment secured to its leg. With the Merlin settled upon her shoulder; she repaired swiftly to the common steading, wherein, she would encounter Mistress Beshlie who sat before the hearth in company with Mahriel; laying edge to her sabre with a whetstone. Glancing up from her endeavour, Beshlie spoke;

'Selya; how may I attend you, this fine day?'

Selya thrust the despatch into Beshlie's hand; telling her t'was Merlin-flown from out of the east. Beshlie spread forth the parchment and made scrutiny. They saw her face become solemn as she beheld the sum of the scribing thereon. She looked up at them; her voice cold, and hard-edged,

'T'is from my Lord Tristan. I must away to Rhom in all haste. The Gatherment of The Guardians of The Light is convoked. Mahriel; you shall stand in my stead as Mistress of The Riders of Lothleitha; for, as Guardian Companion of The Light, you shall take up again, your standing as Lady of Lothleitha whilst I am gone. I shall take four of the Sisterhood as escort. Ride now, to bring this intelligence to your fellow Guardian Companion of The Light; The Lord of Lothluthil… Khaartur, Master of the Nemesis of Lothluthil.'

Bidding Selya to go saddle and harness Cephus, Beshlie spoke again to Mahriel,

'The Darkness is stirring in the north, and the time of that, which the Lord Laumil of Elisriendell has called "The Advent of the End of the Shining Days" for one, or for the other… this final and determinant battle of "The Eternal Watchtower," where we shall engage The Forces of The Darkness for the sum of the whole, is upon us. Assemble the Sisterhood and the Brotherhood into the Assault squadron, in manner as we have prepared. Thence, await such call as comes from Rhom. Methinks you shall not have cause to wait so very long in the standing.'

Gathering four of the Sisterhood, Beshlie armoured herself; taking up her mother's Leissor-bladed, Algethi Sabre; the same blade that Staisha had borne whence she was Lead Rider of The Sisterhood of Lothleitha. Mounting Cephus, she rode out and away from the settlement of The Riders of Lothleitha to embrace the destiny that awaited her in the soft green plains of Amriath.

In Calverstock; the young trooper, Huran Sildeth was brought into the presence of Eldamar. As he had made approach to the palisade, Sildeth had seen the sentinels all about the bratticing. Calverstock was on full alert. He had galloped the clearing, calling loud for the gates to be opened to him. Whence within; he had been brought to Eldamar in swift accord, there to lay forth the intelligences of Tristan.

As the tell was laid; Eldamar had felt the touch of icing fingers betwixt his shoulders as Huran Sildeth told of that, which the watchers of Shandalar had espied all about the slaughtering grounds of the northern settlements of Khallis. These abominations spoken of could, in truth, be none other than "Haldrig en'Seregnir"; the Necromancers of The Dreadful, Dark Entity: Baelar.

So; the sum of his blackest fear was now manifest... the fear that had betokened on the broad way betwixt the Farmstead of Falan, and the settlement of Bradda in distant Arfeiniel, when the Shadow-Wraith cloaked as scurvy herder... the Shadow-Wraith that had worn the "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Witching Bracelet, sought to despatch Artanis. None of these Witching Bracelets was thought to prevail after the fourth bloody engagement of what is called by name: "The Eternal Watchtower." At that time, Eldamar's fear was that if the one that remained, then there might be more.

His fears were now proven, but in manner far beyond that first fear. The Dreadful, Dark Entity… Baelar, had raised once more, his most terrible minions... The Necromancers… the "Haldrig en'Seregnir"… these dreadful abominations of The Abyss, whose power was unspeakable. They could raise Armies from the dead... indeed, according to the intelligence laid; this was what they were manifesting, even as these intelligences were here laid. Each "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Necromancer wore such a Witching Bracelet. T'was a Badge of Office, but it was also much more. It bestowed upon the wearer, the very essence of the baleful Dominion of Baelar.

Needs-must; a message be swiftly despatched into Elisriendell to Torbair of Aiuthal; famed Goldsmith of Elisriendell, and too… "Kurwa'Tur-selu En'Ithil'Algethi "… "Craftmaster of High Moon-Magick;" fellow Knight of The Eternal Watchtower, and comrade of old; who needs-must now leave his distant steading and ride forth once more in the name of The Light.

Torbair of Aiuthal needs-must now stand with Eldamar; Lord Guardian of The Light; Eldamar; Master Magus of The Knights of the Eternal Watchtower, and too... "Tur'istar Yaara-Templa,"… Craftmaster of The Old High Magick; who now rode out of Calverstock upon Starshadow; bound away for Rhom to elicit scrupulous informations from the young picket of the northern Lorenfalu patrol; Kharstan Volnis, in the exactness of the matter that prevailed in the north.

Scarce a Sundial shadow in passing; in the Great Mooting Chamber of Rhom; Tristan sat with Trillian, Talith, and Eldamar; putting the question to Kharstan Volnis. The young trooper told that he had made specific tally of nine of the dreadful beings prowling the charnels of the northern settlements. Eldamar shivered; this fitted as sweetly as a glove of the finest kid leather.

The number nine was the only number that, when it was added to itself any number of times to secure a weightier number, no matter how sturdy that number became; then, if the disjoined numbers of the sum tally were added together until only a single number remained; then, that issue would always be the number nine.

This was; in the ancient notions of the Algethi: "Carghach"… an evil number; supposed to be so, because t'was whispered in legend that nine were the number of "Baelar'enin," meaning "The Many" or "Those who are being Dark," who came forth from out The Abyss in The Age of The Beginnings. But, t'was also true that when the Mordbrood of Valdarthost was destroyed at Rhyddu and at Ling... The Guardians of The Light that engaged them; being: Eldamar, Tristan and Talith; Trillian and Calamar; Marcus, Chelaine; Callam, and Cirion… were too; the sum of nine.

Might it be that Baelar had resolved that these "Haldrig en'Seregnir" abominations each held intent to avulse one of these firstmost Guardians of The Light down into the Darkness, when came "The End of the Shining Days" upon them? Were this the case; then the youngling Guardians… no matter how accomplished were they in their art; could not be suffered to engage this rotting Host. The firstmost Guardians needs must ride out as before. The Council of The Light must be gathered in swift accord. Despatches must be discharged in all haste.

In Shandalar; Cirion had called out her War-Bailiffs to raise the Shandalar Militia. Word had come down from the Shire Seat of Khanlyn concerning that, which the watchers had espied in the ruined northern reaches of Khallis. Word too, had come from Khanis that, as Lord Protector, he had mustered the Lokarian Warriors in accord with his Shire's standing as "Sangencrist," or "Weapons Gather" to Shandalar. As this word was laid to the hearkening of the Shandalar Queen, a little less than one thousand Lokarian warriors marched south to bolster Cirion's Gather. Where though, would the Forces of The Light engage the Darkling Host?

Lorimer had set watchers high upon the Striding Edge Redoubt. They had looked down upon the ruin of the Khallis Redoubt for the span of some ten moons. They had watched the great Darkling Host come down the Plain of Khallis and turn to northerly-west… tracing the ambit of hills that lay at the lower westerly reaches of the gorge of Khallis, in seek of passage out into the Amriath Plains. Distantly to the north, they espied one more Host marching south; some two-moons behindwardly of the Great Host. This must be the dreadfulness that were the charnel-raised miners led by these abominations that had caused them to rise. Were the plan for these two Hosts to meet as one; then the first Great Host needs must break march 'ere they prosecuted an incursion into the wastelands of Khallis. Time enough perhaps, to foregather the diverse Forces of The Light.

As word was galloped back to the Shandalar Citadel; from out of the greening of The Delvlings, five shimmering, mail-clad maids mounted upon snow-white Unicorns rode to the gates of Calverstock. Entering in, Beshlie made dismount and ran to the Manor-Hall in seek of her mother. Staisha was in one of the shielded upper chambers instructing the Prince Calahmir, Tharlan; Kerrall, and Beshlie's younger sister, Tarelena in tactic of affray. As Beshlie made enter; Staisha broke tell, and turning; bade her daughter most welcome, saying…

'Why Beshlie, t'is good to see you again, but what do you here…?'

Then, her voice became watchful.

'You should be in Elisriendell… you would not be here, 'less… is the Alarm raised? Tell me, daughter; and tell me now.'

Beshlie nodded;

'Aye, Mother; a Merlin-flown despatch not two-moons since. We have ridden Amriath in sturdy accord and would seek some provender 'ere we ride for Rhom. The Sisterhood of Lothleitha is raised; as is the Nemesis of Lothluthil.'

Staisha bid the younglings bide her return; and strode from the chamber. In passing the kitchens, she called the victual-master to attend Beshlie's companions as she sought out Callam. She discovered him in the gryphon stables, and lay tell of Beshlie's coming, and too of the despatch. Callam did not falter for the span of a heartbeat. Making hard call to his Ostler to saddle a pair of the Skirmishers, he ran from the stable calling loud for the Watch Captain to attend him. He laid command that the Calverstock squadrons be assembled, and too, Nurel Lintehirion, Reeve of Calverstock and his Rangers.

The Garrison was to be stripped to the bones. A slender detachment was to be left to hold 'gainst any sly incursion. The remain was to be ready within the passing of a Sundial shadow-span to ride for Rhom. Meantime; Callam would fly the gryphons out to Elisriendell… to the steadings of Torbair, and the Lord Laumil. Staisha would make gryphon flight out to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, and thence, on to Arlanronde. The Forces of The Light were called to muster, and no time to lose... no time at all.

In Rhom, Tristan had mustered the Rhom cavalry. Even now, they were preparing their mounts. Despatches were flown to Shandalar and the Forest of Raventhorn Scar. The gatherment would be at the southern edge of the wastelands of Khallis, a pair of leagues to the east of the Badger Grove. All about Rhom was hustle and bustle.

In the dispensary of Rhom, Cuchulain, churgeon to Tristan, attended the Princess Serissea. Entering her chamber, he was thankful, yet surprised to perceive that she lay a'bed that morning disporting a soft, and pleasing hue to her countenance, and not the pale hue of pain. The Oil of Alfirin had, at last, worked its magic to her wounding. He bid her fair morrow, and petitioned that he might appraise her piercing.

She bestowed him a soft smile of accord, and pulled her chemise up over her head; casting it aside. She turned upon her left-most side towards him, and raised her arms upon the pillow, revealing her pretty breasts fully to his gaze; her great, pale-blue Agate eyes firm upon his face, and a tiny, soft smile upon her lips.

Beset with disquietude; Cuchulain made scrutiny of her wound. T'was well-knitted; he might lift out the delicate stitching this day. He apprised the Princess of his resolve. To his dismay, she turned upon her back and laid her hands behind her head, presenting her pretty breasts, open and inviting to his gaze once again. All the while, she held him with those beautiful, pale-blue Agate eyes. Cuchulain entreated her to turn again upon her side so he might withdraw the stitches. She bestowed upon him a little pout, and obeyed. He gently eased out the stitches, and, as he moved away; of a sudden, her arms were about his neck. He gasped,

'Highness...'

She gifted him a slender, petulant pout once again; saying,

'The Darkness is stirring in the north, and the time of that, which the Lord Laumil of Elisriendell has called "The Advent of the End of the Shining Days," is close to hand. Master Cuchulain; I owe you my life, and wish to repay you…'

Taken aback; Cuchulain gasped,

'Highness; I seek no reward for that which is my calling. Your healing is reward enough…'

The Princess Serissea gazed at him. He read in her eyes that this was not her wont. What it was; he knew full well, and strove to tear his eyes away. She was speaking again.

'Hearken you well, Master Cuchulain; I hold a span of ten, and seven summers, and may, as like, not see ten, and eight. I am cosseted all my days; I cannot frolic as do other maids. I am, as yet... maid, full-found, and wish to embrace my womanhood whilst I yet may. As you attended me, you have beheld most all of me that there is to behold. No other male has ever done so. Do you not find me comely?'

Cuchulain, nonplussed by this reveal, strove for word.

'Such a thing cannot be. You are in my care. Such as you urge is unthinkable for a 'pothick. It is forbidden by our creed.'

Serissea studied him long, with her great, pale-blue Agate eyes.

'Then, I discharge myself from your keeping, Master Churgeon. I want you, and I shall have you. Now, bar the door and come to me. This is no behest. This is my Royal Command. My Uncle will not thank you, should it come to his ears that you have defied me.'

Cuchulain gazed at her. Still, he wavered, torn betwixt being damned if he did, and damned if he did not. She was speaking again…

'Come now Master Churgeon; this is no wanton swive that I seek from you. You are sweet and kind, principled and caring. A maid could indeed do worse than you. I perceive that you shall gentle me softly along the pathway to embrace my full womanhood.'

Cuchulain sighed. There was no escape; she was resolved. With her eyes hot upon him; he cast off his garments and joined her in the bed. Her hair smelled of honeysuckle; her skin was soft and warm. Within the span in passing of a pair of Sundial-shadows; The Princess Serissea of Shandalar embraced her womanhood, complete; and Cuchulain, churgeon to The Lord Tristan; had wholly breached his 'pothick's creed.

Meantime; at the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, Marcus tarried out on the causeway, overseeing his Stone-Masters bolstering the reaches of the same. The causeway was ever scoured by the wind-blown lappings of the Cornflower-Blue Mere; and Marcus had elected that the edges of the causeway need be lined with stone blocks to deny the scour and shuffles of the waters; tugged as they were, by the last breaths of winter from out of the grey, flinty mountains to the west.

As he beheld their endeavours, he occasioned to glance up, and perceived five specks in the skies, coming on in swift accord from out of the east. As the specks came closer, Marcus saw that they were gryphons. There came a flash of sun upon metal as they turned towards the causeway. Four flew free; the lead gryphon carried a rider. A rider, whose pale, golden hair streamed in the wind.

The gryphons came on, lowering their stand in the skies, to settle upon the far reach of the causeway. The rider made dismount, and Marcus beheld Staisha, who ran to him, wind-tousled of hair, and concerned in demeanour. He saw too; that a pair of the gryphons were armoured Skirmishers and the others were common gryphons. As she came close; Marcus beheld that her eyes were bright; though, whether this were from her flight, or the circumstance of what she would lay to tell was not for the knowing. She progressed the causeway in swift accord to his presence; crying...

'Marcus! To Arms! The Alarm is raised in the north, and The Council of The Light is called to attendance in Rhom. The Guardians are summoned in all haste. I shall leave a pair of gryphons to bring you, and Chelaine to Rhom; but now; I needs-must progress on to Arlanronde to call out the Lady Artanis, and Trooper Mallin. Callam is bound away into Elisriendell to raise Torbair of Aiuthal and The Lord Laumil, as we speak.'

Marcus studied her in solemn accord;

'What then, is in the north? Mean you that the Darkling vermin march through the ruination that was Khallis, intent on incursing the remain of Amriath? How then, have they breached the Enchanted Girdle?

Staisha gazed at him a little while;

'I cannot tell; for I know not of such informations. T'is best you progress with Chelaine to Rhom where the Lord Eldamar will lay such tell as is to hand, to the Council. I must away to Arlanronde; T'would seem the time stands not sturdy in our favour, and little in remain for the squander.'

Turning again, she ran back to where the gryphons waited. The ostler of Marcus had come forth, and stood; holding a pair in curb, as Staisha made mount one of the Skirmishers. She made a gentle whistle betwixt her teeth, and two of the common gryphons lay heed to her command. Turning again to Marcus, she spoke,

'I am away. I shall meet with you again in Rhom. Tarry not, Marcus; for the span in passing that we yet have in hold, methinks; is not kind to us.'

The three Gryphons lifted into the skies and turned into the west. Soon enough, they were, but specks out over the deep greening as Staisha progressed onwardly towards Arlanronde. Marcus repaired to the Great Crystal Castle in swift accord as the ostler led the gryphons along the causeway with consummately hesitant regard. He was ever chary of gryphons, and this singleton Skirmisher in midst of the others was a singularly truculent creature.

Within; Marcus sought out Chelaine in haste. He apprised her of Staisha's tell; saying,

'Staisha has brought news. The Council of The Light is summoned to Rhom. The Forces of The Darkness are marching south. "Farahuine" - "Hunter of Darkness," and your Mother's Great Sword of Shandalar, "Arnsulforth," also called "Blizzard of The North;" together with her Armour that we laid safe in the Undercroft in hope that t'would be a sturdy reach of time before they were needed once more; must be raised, this day.'

Chelaine spoke not a word. She moved to the door and called her retainers to go fetch the swords and armour, and lay them in the chamber without. Then turning again, she began to divest her gown. Marcus gazed upon her. Albeit, she held close on two-score and five summers, she was still beautiful. She gave glance to him.

'Tarry not, Marcus; you needs-must armour yourself in kind.'

He nodded, and made to cast off tunic and breeches. As he tugged off his under-shirt in prepare to don the padded camise; of a sudden, Chelaine pulled him onto the bed. Her skin was warm; her eyes were inviting. He grinned;

'Shame upon you! We have no time for this dalliance.'

She smiled softly,

'La; there is ever time for this dalliance.'

Staisha came down upon Arlanronde within the passing of the span of a Sundial shadow. She apprised Artanis of all that had come to passing, and that the Council was called to gather. Artanis bid her attend a little while; she needs must raise the Garrison. She called out her Captain, Lansar Stelsen. He would secure the settlement with a force at arms stripped to the bone; thence; he would ride out the remain of his half-Cohort of Elisriendell Range-Masters; having closed up Arlanronde in full sum for the safekeeping of those within. They would progress Amriath towards Rhom at all speed.

This done; Artanis made haste to her chambers. From a great chest hard by the bed she shared with Eldamar; she drew forth the mail bustier and war-skirt of the Avalquare... the Mounted Incursion Raiders of Seuna, that she had worn at the Massacre of Sennragen, some ten, and six summers since passed. She lifted out her Wiccen Rede sword and laid the same upon the bed. Swiftly, she divested her garb down to her chemise, and armoured herself. Buckling her sword to frog, she repaired belowstairs. Passing a few last commands to Captain Stelsen, she made haste into the great closure of Arlanronde where Staisha and Mallin tarried. Mounting the common gryphon; she bade the Captain farewell, and settled in saddle as the gryphons spread wing and rose into the skies; turning into the east, bound away for Rhom.

As they came down upon the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, Staisha espied three specks coming on from out of Elisriendell. Closer they came, and t'was seen that they were gryphons. Callam rode a Skirmisher; Torbair and the Lord Laumil rode a common pair. Far below; from the edge of the deep greening were to be seen two rides of warriors. Ride, the first; was black against the golden meadows. Ride, the second was pale, and glittered in the sunlight. Here rode The Nemesis of Lothluthil and The Riders of Lothleitha. Both were riding hard to eastwards. The Alarm was fully raised; The Forces of The Light rode to Gatherment.

The three gryphons conjoined the flight of Staisha, Mallin, and Artanis. Greetings were called as the gryphons emplaced themselves in close accord. They perceived that Torbair wore his great blade of the Old Moon-Magick: "Lossehelin Ruthuviel"…or as would be said in the common tongue, "The Shadow of The Unicorn Horn." The great sword slept in a glittering black, Adamaunte scabbard, embellished with a rearing Unicorn fashioned in pale gold, at its throat; and pommelled with a great, flawless Moonstone. The Lord Laumil wore a great Long-sword pommelled with a mighty Garnet that twinkled its deep redness in the sunlight.

On the scarp of the Great Gorge of Khallis; hard by the stone flat, whereon towered the crumbling edifice of the Beacon of Lamentation; a pair of black eyes watched the passing of the Chutak Host into the west. The False Beshlie had embraced a concealed attendance in the slighted Khallis Citadel this se'nnight since passed; and perceiving the Horde in approach from out of the north; had accomplished the heights of the Great Gorge to observe whereto they would ride whence they discovered the Redoubt tumbled into the Khallis Defile, and the way into the west closed to them. She watched, as the Horde distanced itself; trailing the ambit of hills, that lay at the lower westerly reaches of the Gorge of Khallis. Soon enough, they would accomplish the lowering downs and strike out into the Khallis wastelands.

The False Beshlie made to decamp from the Khallis heights. In turning, she espied one more Host coming from out of the north, in trail of the first. They progressed in swarm, and were not mounted. They could not be Chutak; for Chutaks rode their gruesome beasts. What then, were these warriors? As they came closer, so then, came the knowing. She beheld the nine black-cloaked and cowled figures leading them on. The cloaked beings cast no shadow; and a black swarm of flies beset the Host.

With sturdy disrelish, she beheld the trail of fester and drool they left upon the plain in trail of their passing. Even though she was half-Darkling herself, the False Beshlie was clutched by the icy hand of fear. She knew of these black creatures. They were the Necromancers… the "Haldrig en'Seregnir"; the darkest abominations from the Abyss deeps. They had raised this gruesome Host from out the charnels of the northern settlements. The Host was 'naught, but a Legion of The Damned; each, and all lost to the clutches of the Darkness in the manner of their perishing… by Karuk blade.

None could ever have hoped to rise to Seithynnor… the Afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes; where they would sit in Halls with their forebears, and feast forever, on red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer; all boasting their prowess at War. So, they marched at the whim of The Dreadful, Dark Entity: Baelar; a raggle-taggle army of witless corpses; in tally, to her perception... of something close to one thousand; driven on by the dreadful, black-cloaked beings. She watched as they prospected their slimy advance all down the Plain of Khallis. She dared not move; for if she were uncloaked in her conceal; then, it mattered not that she was engaged in the matter of tumbling The Light. They would behold her as Algethi, and they would destroy her. When they had passed by; she moved from her place of concealment, pondering upon what she had seen.

The Dreadful, Dark Entity: Baelar had raised the Necromancers. They had not prowled the land since they were well-nigh destroyed to the last one in the fourth bloody engagement of that, which these impudent Algethi called by name: "The Eternal Watchtower." Now; Baelar… "The Lord of The Underdark" had brought them forth from the very bowels of the Abyss to raise this repugnant and rotting Legion. It must be that he had chosen to at last, unleash "The End of the Shining Days"; wiping each and every servant of The Light from off the face of the land. Here, at last; could be cleansed this blemish of Goodness; laying all open to the dread, creeping "Night of Shadows Rising;" his "Sath-Ninduru"… where he would turn all back to Chaos, as it was in the Age of Beginnings.

Were this so; then t'was singularly needful for her to seek out, in haste, this "Golden Child"; this Kathalyn Seregon… Chosen Daughter of The Light. For as it was foretold; this wench possessed the power to meddle The Dreadful, Dark Entity Baelar's designs to ruination, complete. So then, how would she ride? She could not come down to the Plain and trail the Hosts; for if she were espied, they would turn, and destroy her.

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Perhaps, she might skirt the heights of the scarp of Khallis. There would be no great imposition in following this pathway... not until she approached the great, slumped span across the scarp; in measure of reach, beyond three-score cubits, and some thirty-cubits in deeping, that had once been the Khallis Redoubt. The whole of the topple lay as a tumbled slew of shattered stone; denying passage through the Khallis Defile in full sum. To pick a sound passage across this ruination would be a treacherous endeavour. But, there was no other way.

Her progression from the Beacon flat to the slump of the scarp was accomplished within the passing span of one-half of a Sundial shadow-span. All the while, she beheld the two Hosts in her sight. Now, before her, came the slumping of the scarp. There was no prospect of crossing the ragged tumble of rock upon horseback; and so, she made dismount; leading her horse across the steep pack of fallen rocks; ever watchful for the crumble and tumble of those upon which she, and her mount lay step. Were any of this piled ruin to slide; then she, and her mount would be whirled down to their doom; for the Plain of Khallis was above two-hundred cubits below them. More; they would plunge down upon the ragged spoil of the Redoubt stonework which lay all sharded and shattered below.

So it was; the False Beshlie crept her mount across the slumping in the Khallis scarp with consummate chariness. The treacherous endeavour was accomplished in sum of two Sundial shadow-spans. Standing on the western shoulder of the slump, she cast gaze in trail of the Hosts. They were now, but a pair of dark smudges far into the west. Her cumber of bettering the slump had bestowed upon them a distancing of a pair of leagues in advantage. Soon enough, would they turn into the south as they accomplished the distant, lowering downs.

Though t'would seem this trailing behindwards would be a stern adversity... in truth it were no adversity at all. The Hosts would progress into the wastelands, and would, as like, be swiftly engaged by the Forces of The Light. In the whirl and tumult of mellay; in receipt of some pretence, she might lure away this "Golden Child" to some place far beyond the abetment of her comrades, and there; despatch her with impunity. With a cold smile, the False Beshlie mounted her steed, and rode forwards into the west. All she needs must now accomplish, was to seek out some lonesome place whereto she could lure this "Golden Child"… this "Chosen Daughter of The Light"… this impertinent Algethi wench by name of Kathalyn Seregon.

Beshlie of Calverstock; Chosen Daughter of The Light, stood in the Great Throne-room of Rhom in company with her comrade Guardians, before the wondrous image of the beautiful woman carven in purest white marble that had been brought from the concealed chamber in the bowels of the Palace and emplaced in the Throne-room betwixt the Thrones of Tristan and Talith. The image bore the charger upon which laid the Great Sword of The Light; "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning," pommelled with the dark Amber wherein… far down in its pellucid heart, there blazed a spark… a flare of perfect Amber fire.

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

In the presence of the Council of The Light, the young Guardians were settled, one by the one, with their swords from the hand of Eldamar. Tarelena; younger sister of Beshlie, took to hand her sword, fashioned in the likeness of Queen Cirion's Great Sword of The Light: "Alasse Nenharma," also called "Shining Slaughter." This new Guardian Sword... as with her sister blade; was fashioned in manner of the Khuzud Dushrakhas; efficient and keen-edged; a half, and one-cubit from pommel to tip; with the slender blade softly sweeping up; double-edged, and having no cross-guard. The hilt gently curved away, much in the fashion of Deerhunter's paunching knife… but far more deadly.

In sum; Tarelena's sword was in image as would be perceived in a looking glass to the sword of Cirion; save this... here, upon the blade were no gravings to behold; and the sword was pommel-stoned with a flawless Blue Topaz from out of the Jewel-Hoard of Laurelindor. This stone, chosen in the stead of Tarelena, by Torbair of Aiuthal in the manner of "Cilme vell Kiira"… Choosing the Gems, was as close a match as might be imagined to the Forget-me-not blue hue of eye possessed by Tarelena.

This Guardian sword was, as of all the rest; imbued with the enchantment called "Niirea-Kalhkari"... the tiny, bright, crystal-clear lozenge shimmering like dew... the pure essence of Unicorn tears; the secret enchantment of Lothluthil sword blades. These were gathered by light of a pale Lammas Moon, by young Algethi maidens in the secret deep, forest glades of Elisriendell where the Unicorns gathered together upon that one night to mourn the passing of those of their kind in the swiftly flown year. When such a lozenge was compassed into a sword; be it in hilt, or in pommel… that sword would cleave through all known Darkling armour. No black spell-casting could gainsay the death blow. Each Guardian sword was enchanted in like manner; and too... each Guardian sword was tempered by Elshore with the remain of the phial of Olistalix-Bane… the fable of every Sword-maker.

This Legendary flux of the Khallis Assay was used in the tempering of sword blade, to hold edge beyond the wildest dreams of the night. This fine powder… a deep, saffron yellow, shot through with red flecking that shimmered like flame, being the gift of old Filar; Lord of the now lost Thuvian Clan Buhrodar.

Tarelena took the sword to hand. It was a beautiful thing. She drew the blade from the Adamaunte scabbard and progressed a few practice strokes, and the like. The weighing and balance were perfection. With a smile, she slipped the blade to scabbard with a soft, glissing sound.

The Prince Calahmir stood next to take up his blade. This Guardian sword was one of the pair of Long-swords that Elshore had fettled, and reached three cubits from pommel to blade-tip; pommelled with a mighty, sky-blue Agate, with the cypher of the garlanded Snow Lilies of Old Shandalar carved thereon. It was another masterpiece of Torbair of Aiuthal; famed Goldsmith of Elisriendell. The Agate had been chosen by him in keeping with "Cilme vell Kiira," to match Calahmir's pale, Agate-blue eyes.

Kerrall stood forth in his turn. His blade was the other Long-sword; fettled in manner the same as the sword of Calahmir, but pommelled with a fiery Amber; for Kerrall possessed the hue of eye of his mother, Tahkaiia; who yet held the same hue of eye as she had so done in her Loki form.

Tharlan was next to stand to his sword. This sword was a differentness, and he was chosen Bond-Master of this blade. This sword was the Star-Sword sharded to ruin by the Galdors, and reborn by the peerless skill of Elshore. This was the mighty Star-Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi, The Guardians of The Star of The East. It had been reclaimed from the clutches of The Darkness by the Partisan maids in distant Astalan.

This was the sword that the beautiful Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… "Keeper of The Stars"; Hand-maiden of The High Goddess, Elaiana; had ordained to be named "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East." This mighty sword was now pommelled with the flawless Moonstone of Lorien; Forge-Mistress of Lothluthil. This sword was now settled as "Everanthil"… "A Blade of The Watchful Bastion," and was beset with enchantment far beyond common enchantment.

Here, it should be told; albeit, previous-mentioned in the Tarsius; the matter of a sword settled as "Everanthil." At the first; a "Blade of The Watchful Bastion" would bond with the one for whom it was forged, and no other. When beset by The Darkness; the Bond-Master could call upon his blade in the Ancient tongue of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil; wherewith, the pommelled moonstone of the sword would shine forth brighter and brighter 'til it cast 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 was said to be watched over by The Goddess of The Moon: Ethiriel, who sat at the right hand of The High Goddess Elaiana.

In her turn; Beshlie of Calverstock stood before the statue and marvelled at the crafting... of the Artisans who had fashioned this clumping of raw marble into this wondrousness as was imagined to be the likeness in image of The High Goddess Elaiana. She stepped forward to take up the Great Sword; then… she did not. The wondrous image of the beautiful woman, carven in purest white marble began to glow; softly at the first, then gathering brightness; as it had so done when Kathalyn Seregon... "The Golden Child" had taken up her Golden sword... The Mighty Defender of The Light; "Runya en Numen;" called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth."

The Company assembled prevised that the Golden brightness all drifting about the marble image would gather form as Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… "Keeper of The Stars"… as it was before; but as Beshlie reached out her hands to lift "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" from the charger; the pure white, serene countenance of the statue seemed to shiver. Then; slowly … a blackness began to manifest. Swiftly, it grew to cloak the head of the statue… a blackness far blacker than the blackest of nights. As it bloated and writhed, it seemed to suck out of the darkness that was itself… all traces of light. Swiftly, it gathered substance and seemed to reach out towards Beshlie; who cried out in alarm and fearing as she beheld, deep in the blackness; red, evil eyes that held her pinioned by their malevolent glare. She felt herself being drawn towards this blackness, her comrades seeming palsied in time, and having no means to gift her aid.

From the blackness… blacker than even the pitch black of its whole, came a hissing snarl of malignant hatred that seemed to curl and wreathe itself about her. Suddenly, her hands were upon the hilt of "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning," which seemed to leap from out of the black Adamaunte scabbard; its Pommel stone flaring a perfect, Amber fire.

To Beshlie, it seemed that "Amrun Tarsi" hacked down into the dreadful blackness of its own accord. A terrible shriek echoed the Throne-room… such a shriek as could come from the throat of none, but some being of the Abyss. T'was indeed, the hacking cut of a cavalry smiting; but Beshlie knew full-well that she had not effected the same. The blackness seemed to fold writhingly in upon itself, swiftly diminishing; then fading, as the head of the statue crashed to the flagstone floor and shattered.

All about the Throne-room of Rhom, a silence made slink and creep... a silence as might be cut with a blade. None there could embrace imagine of what had manifested before them in this place. Beshlie stood silent; the mighty Star-sword: "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" loose-held in her hand. She beheld the ruin of the marble statue there, before her. Wide of eye, and with open mouth; she gazed at the shattered and sharded marble head at her feet; thence, back to the sword in her hand as if she were lost in a dream. Beset with disquietude, she turned to those assembled, as if in seek of some truth of tell in this thing. Alas, she found none. Casting gaze from one to the other; all she beheld was amaze and trepidation.

But then, as she gazed upon them, she espied fearing spring into their countenances. There, upon the flags at her feet, she beheld her shadow where there had been no shadow but a few heartbeats beforehand. The cold hand of fear crept about her, its icy fingers touching her betwixt her shoulder-blades. It could only be that the statue was glowing once again! With infinite care; and all the while; expecting to feel the clutch of The Darkness upon her; Beshlie steadied her grasp about the hilt of the Great sword "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning." Scarce-daring to draw too sturdy a breath, she slowly began to turn to face whatever might now have manifested behindwards to her.

Gathering her courage and her strength; she spun about to face whatever it was; "Amrun Tarsi" poised for the vicious hack... and stared into the perfect, forget-me-not blue eyes of Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… "Keeper of The Stars," who stood; beholding Beshlie and the assembled company with a serene, yet questioning gaze. Presently; Menelwen spoke, saying;

'I sense the echo of a Dark, and Evil presence that lingers in this place. Tell me now; Chosen Daughter of The Light; what has manifested here, this day?'

Beshlie lay forth the tell of the awful blackness that had beset the statue. She told of her imagine that the blackness was reaching out to take her from this place. She told of the Great Sword, "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning," and of how it had seemed to guide her hand in striking at the blackness. She lay the tell of how as the sword bit; a dreadful shriek had echoed the Throne-room, and the blackness had vanished. As she hearkened to the tell; the serene countenance of Menelwen… Keeper of The Stars became puzzled. She spoke again;

'Aye; that would lay to wit, the matter of a balefulness that I beheld as I came to this place. I came upon a rampart of evilness that I could not pass through. I was ensnared for some sturdy span in passing. This then, was a wilful deceit of Baelar; who here, manifested in my stead. Hold no whimsy of imagine; for t'was certainly he who came into this place; resolved to take you where you stood. What I cannot presage is the whyfor of this thing. The foretelling makes no issue of Beshlie of Calverstock in his undoing. There must be more; for he would not have come for you, himself, 'less you are indeed, a greater peril to him than is "The Golden Child."

Beholding the anxious demeanour of Beshlie at this reveal, Menelwen spoke further...

'Stand not in concernment; Chosen Daughter of The Light; for you shall prevail. Beshlie of Calverstock; I perceive your sword has bonded to you of its own choose. Here stands a singular advantage; for "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" is raised in the Dreaming of Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being"; as "Everanthil," "A Blade of The Watchful Bastion."

Further, there is issue with the second Star-Sword "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East." She is bonded to Tharlan of Arlanronde; but, he shall prevail with the Thuvian Blood-axe, "Arlannafeide," when comes his part in this last, Great Conflict. We are content in this matter; so now; stand to me, Staisha of Calverstock; mother of The Chosen Daughter of The Light. It is foretokened that you shall embrace your part in the tumbling to ruin of Baelar and his minions of the Abyss. No Lothleitha Sabre will prevail against what you shall encounter; 'an this foretoken stands true in sum. Thus, you shall be bonded in kind, to "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East," in manner the same, as is Tharlan. When comes the time; Tharlan shall pass her to your hand in good heart, and she shall not turn her blade 'gainst you as she would; were you not so bonded.'

Summoning Tharlan to stand to her, Menelwen petitioned him that he might loose his Great Star-Sword "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East," from the frog of his sword belt. This, he so did; passing the scabbarded blade into her hands. Holding forth the Great Star-Sword, she bid Staisha to come stand beside Tharlan. Each was to lay hand upon the sword in good heart. This, they so did. As it had manifested with the Bonding of "Runya en Numen" called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" to Kathalyn Seregon; a soft, golden radiance begirdled Menelwen… Keeper of The Stars; creeping down her arms and encircling both Tharlan and Staisha. Brighter and brighter glowed the golden radiance; until those assembled needs must turn their gaze aside. Then; as swiftly as it had manifested; the golden glow faded. When they looked again; t'was not Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… "Keeper of The Stars," who stood in that place.

Where Menelwen had been; there stood a tall, and beautiful woman. Her gown was silver and white; and shimmered… as do moonbeams dance upon a tranquil mere. Her hair was white… white and sparkling, as is frozen snow in the deep of winter. Her eyes were pale; as pale as the flawless Moonstone of Lorien, Forge-Mistress of Lothluthil; the Moonstone now firm-pommelled in the Star-sword "Asteth Celeb'runya"… "Silver Flame of The East" which she held in her hands.

She stood, beset with a faint aura of a silvery hue; much as the Moon is sometimes beset by a pale circling of light on nights of icing frost. As all there, gazed upon her in wonder; she spoke. Her voice was soft; as soft as night breezes in the treetops…

'I am Ethiriel; Goddess of the Moon, and Mistress of the Old Moon-Magick. This blade is "Everanthil"… "A Blade of The Watchful Bastion," and I watch over it. Staisha of Calverstock, you have been weighed in the balance and have not been found wanting. Enfold about yourself the espousal of my covenant, for now; you are fully embraced in the Dreaming of The Great Mother.'

As she so spoke; the pale, silver radiance begirding her, crept down her arms and encircled Staisha, whose forget-me-not blue eyes shone pale for the span of a pair of heartbeats. As they so did; the great, pommelled Moonstone of Lorien flared. Ethiriel lifted away her hands, and the silver radiance faded from about Staisha and Tharlan. The pale light in Staisha's eyes faded, and once more, they were the perfect, forget-me-not blue. The Goddess of The Moon spoke again,

'It is done. Behold now; the Bonding of Destiny. Take back your sword, Tharlan of Arlanronde. Be ready to pass it on to Staisha of Calverstock when comes the time of its needing.'

The Company stood silent, in muse and ponder at this reveal. As they so did; the pale Aura of a silvery hue besetting Ethiriel; Goddess of The Moon, grew brighter and brighter, until it pained the eyes to gaze upon the same. Softly; it made wane and fade, and there before them, where the Goddess had stood; there was 'naught, but the marble statue... save for this: the statue stood again, in completeness. None had seen the sharded head rise again, from where it had splinteringly tumbled to the flags of the Throne-room.

The silence about the Throne-room was, of a sudden, breached by the echoing, alacritous foot-falls of the Watch Captain who strode therein, in company with a dust-begrimed young Cornet from the northern Lorenfalu Patrol. Breathless, the Cornet laid his intelligences plain to the Company there, assembled. He told that two great Hosts were perceived progressing the lowering downs of the ambit of hills that lay at the westerly reaches of the Gorge of Khallis. They had accomplished the far northerly wastelands of Khallis some three Sundial shadow-spans since passed. He was detached to gallop to Rhom in raise of Alert, whilst the remain of the northern patrol laid skirmish upon the flanks of Host, the first.

Eldamar hearkened to his blurted tell. Though he did not lay in word, his thoughts; he knew full well that the northern patrol had stood some small issue of chance. By now, they would all be lost. Turning to his Company; he spoke... his voice calm, but his eyes were hard; he needs must remove the young Guardians from knowing the truth of the sum of this thing.

'So; it has begun. That upon which the Lord Laumil has bestowed naming of "The End of the Shining Days" now manifests to show us its face. Tristan; gather the young Guardians and lay tactic of engagement upon them.'

When they were gone, he turned to the firstmost Guardians who remained in his presence. With solemn voice, he laid his assumption upon them.

'The second Host is, without doubt, that which was spoken of in the intelligences brought to me by the young trooper at Calverstock. They are an Army of the Dead; raised by nine Necromancers... the dreadful "Haldrig en'Seregnir," that advance with them. T'is my notion that they mean to take us... the firstmost Guardians of The Light, down into the Darkness, in revenge for our insolence in defying Baelar, all these summers since passed. The young Guardians cannot be suffered to engage this second Host. The firstmost Guardians must ride out to engage these vermin... as it was, before; at Rhyddu.'

So now; to tactics. How stood the forces of The Light? Laumil told that he had raised his four-thousand Range-Masters and Rangers 'ere he flew out with Callam from Elisriendell. They were making forced march across the northern reaches of Amriath to settle into their positions on the borderlands of Lorenfalu. The Riders of Lothleitha, in company with the Nemesis of Lothluthil were riding for Rhom as they spoke. Cirion was progressing down the High Pass of Ling with some five-thousand Shandalarian Guard, Cavalry, and Militia; and a little less than one-thousand Lokarian Warriors.

Callam had despatched a galloper to Calverstock to raise his three squadrons of gryphons... two of common, and the third of skirmishing gryphons; and called for his forces to apportion them riders. Tristan sent command for the forces of Lorenfalu to be raised. He could apportion some three, and one-half thousand swords. The Tally in sum of The Forces of The Light stood now at a little below fourteen-thousand diverse Foot-warriors, Assault cavalry, and Archers.

Ranged against them would be Chutaks in sum of some eleven-thousand, and the dreadful host of the risen dead, embracing strength of something close to a thousand. T'would seem, from this tally that the forces of The Light held the advantage in force of arms. This though, was not the full sum of the matter. The Darkling Horde could muster the full eleven-thousand mounted Chutaks against some five-thousand Lorenfalu, Shandalar, and Elisriendell cavalry. In truth; there were too, The Riders of Lothleitha and the Nemesis of Lothluthil; but in full sum, they were still outnumbered above two, to the one. The remainder of the forces of The Light were Foot-warriors and Archers. They outnumbered the gruesome host of the risen dead in stern accord; but, how then, to despatch those who were already dead? Thus, the tally of the forces of The Light was not so sturdily advantageous as the tally of order of engagement might lay to imagine. This confrontation would not be so simple as it would seem. Needs-must; a heedful design for deploy of arms be devised 'ere the forces be committed.

On the northern borders of Lorenfalu and the plains of Amriath, the wastelands of Khallis ranged from the Heights of Rhyddu in the east for some thirty leagues to the west... even unto the southerly borderlands of the Yeranoor Woldings. The Darkling Horde was advancing down the westerly reaches of the wastelands, as was the host of the risen dead... some six-leagues to hindmost. Perhaps, if Cirion might sunder their trail of advance, the Chutak Horde might be held. Such an endeavour was fraught with peril. Were the Chutaks to glance behindwards, and perceive the Shandalar force, why then; might they not turn about and overwhelm Cirion's force?

If though, they did not; the Shandalar cavalry could engage the Chutaks from the rear flanks; laying them open to frontal assail by the cavalry of Lorenfalu and Elisriendell. If too; the Riders of Lothleitha in accord with the Nemesis of Lothluthil, lay into the Chutaks nether flank; then this gruesome host would be pinioned in surround. The swiftness of pace of their hideous mounts would not stand to their advantage as they milled about in engagement of assail from three sides.

Where though, might these vermin be engaged? The wastelands of Khallis were not advantageous for deployment of cavalry. There was, but one place that the mounted Horde might be held. That place were the Mullock Flats. Here; was a lie of land stretching some twenty-leagues to northwards; and spanning some three-hundred cubits in wideness. For countless summers, the waggons had rolled out upon this tract of wasteland, bearing the spoil from the Khallis furnaces. The place that bore name of Mullock Flats was pressed to a sweep of level ground by the rolling of countless waggon wheels; even as if, t'were some slender valley betwixt the desolation of yellow and ochre, of brown and of grey, in midst of the great, silent span of hollows and ash piles; mounds of ancient mining spoil, and great heaps of rusting slag that were the wastelands of Khallis.

Betwixt the mounds and hillocks were rides broad enough for incursing cavalry charge upon the flanks of the Darkling Horde as they rode south; and Tristan had laid a terrible strategy concerning this place. He had prevised that such a Horde as these Chutaks would progress the Mullock Flats.

With infinite, and covert guile; from the walls of Rhom, he had brought out the greater sum of the War Engines of Khallis... those engines taking the form of a dead, hollow tree; being great Oaken planks beset round with bands of iron, and having one end closed and shuttered. The other end gaped forth... a dark, ominous maw into which was poured, and carefully firmed, the black powder of the Alchemists of Khallis. Thence; severally, iron scraps were tumbled into the maw, and the whole, carefully firmed yet again. Then, the sum was fired... and such calamity was wrought, should stand be made forwardly of the Engine. A great, bursting, flaming and crashing, all beset by billowed smokings spewed forth… and all before the Engine was hewn down by the iron scraps hurled out of the maw, in the manner that rain torrent cuts down standing corn.

T'would be a terrible doom to lay forth on the Chutak vermin in approach; and them, having no time to fall back, and no gift of forewarning. And more… from the Khallis smiths; there was the device to be used dreadfully in the maw of the engine... a device, to which they had given a curious name... grape-hurl. These were iron spheres, all joined with chain lengths; taking form of a cluster of grapes which, when loosed from the maw of the Engine… spread wide, all glowing hot. For when cast thus, from out the maw of the Engine; they whirled about in the air... as like, a tumbling sycamore seed will fall from the bough in Autumn; and those so misfortunate as to be chosen, would be cut down and shredded in consummate swiftness.

Four of the Engines would be charged with these devices; the remaining six with the flailing iron scraps. T'was by 'naught more than fair fortune, that there was yet, store of these diverse instruments of slaughter in remain. For they had been employed in grievous accord at the Siege of Rhom; and t'was by 'naught more than the munificence of old Filar of the Clan Buhrodar, that such surfeit yet remained. For now; with the ruin of Khallis, there were no more to be had.

Under Calamar's command; these Engines were arrayed across the throat of the Mullock Flats; five to each side, and laid as in shape of the turned-about head of a broad arrow. Thus; none might lay its doom upon another; and those misfortunate vermin as were ensnared in the shredding embrace of the Engines' hurl would be held in a cross-fire upon that killing ground. The Engines held span of hurl of some half-a-league in full sum. Thus, the Chutaks could be smitten with stern imposition for not some little span in passing. With this misfortune fully embracing them, t'was, as like, they would mill and surge about in declaim of regiment. Then; could the Cavalry of the Forces of The Light fall upon them whilst they scrambled in confused and broken orderment with their mounts rearing and bucking; for Tristan knew these gruesome beasts were a'feared of fire... from the tell of Barandor's despatch concerning this perceive of baulking and shying amongst them in face of the great, fiery blossomings from the catapult-hurled, spattering wild fire bestowed upon the vermin at the assault on the Khallis Citadel.

Assemblage and muster was made in prepare to ride out and engage the Darkling Horde. Tristan ordered out a galloper to ride intercept of Cirion. The firstmost Guardians need be gathered in sum to face the Necromancers and their Host of witless corpses. They must ride as nine; for there were nine of these dreadful, and darkest abominations from the Abyss deeps; and t'was Eldamar's notion that each of these black creatures was charged to take one of the firstmost Guardians down into the Darkness in revenge for their common insolence in defying Baelar. He prevised that when a Necromancer was destroyed; then the sum of those that this creature had raised of this gruesome host from out the charnels of the northern settlements, would as like, return to that which they should ever have been... rotting carcasses devoid of the dreadful perseity with which they had been malevolently enchanted.

As the trooper galloped away into the north in intercept of the Shandalar forces, another was sent away to northerly west in seek of the ride of the Elisriendell Range-Masters. Yet another was sent in his company to seek out the Riders of Lothleitha and the Nemesis of Lothluthil, who were riding together as Assault cavalry. The sum of the despatches they bore was this... Laumil's Range-Masters and the rides of Lothleitha and Lothluthil were to assemble to the east of the faded hostelry they called "The Raven." There; they would elect their strategy. This settled; the host would sunder; one portion would lay flanking assail upon the Chutak Horde; the other would engage the Corpse-Host coming on in trail of the Chutak incurse.

It mattered not which portion assailed which vermin; the purpose was to engage the rotting Legion whilst the firstmost Guardians assailed the Necromancers. The Shandalar forces would assail the Chutak Horde from their left flank; and the Lorenfalu force would assail from the front. In sum; this strategy was not without peril. The Cavalry would engage in advance of the supporting Archers and Foot warriors. Though far outnumbered; t'was hoped that the prevised assail from all sides would throw the Chutak Horde into greater confusion than would prevail from the aforesaid flail of the Engines of War; which would fall silent as the Cavalry attacked.

Muster was called of the Archers and Foot warriors. A slender span in passing was bestowed to them by Tristan, for the taking of leave and the farewells to their kin and bond-mates. There was little time to squander; and none at all for the lingering embraces. All knew that many would not look upon Rhom again; but the women of Rhom cloaked their dread and fears with brave smiles and soft words to ease such misgivings as their menfolk might embrace; though, in truth, many knew full-well they would embrace widowhood by the end of the day. This though, was ever the way of the women of the warriors of Rhom; Tristan had never known them to falter in their courageous dignity, and he was proud of them.

T'was needful for this Company to march out lacking delay; so they might accomplish the broken ground to east of the Mullock Flats to bolster Tristan's cavalry. They needs-must lie low amidst the heaps of spoil; for they would be within reach of the span of hurl of the Engines arrayed upon the western reaches of the throat of the Mullock Flats; and t'would be a frightensome, and perilous conceal that they would embrace; with the hot, metal shardings that had not found Chutak flesh, shrieking above their heads.

The Company marched out to the north, three Sundial shadow-spans before the Cavalry. With fair fortune, and sturdy pace, they would accomplish the Badger Grove below the watchtower of Firgen Pike within a pair of Sundial-shadow passings. Here, they were at the very borders of Lorenfalu, and need progress yet one more league into the north, thence turn into the west close by the cairn of Donella. Before them now would stand a swift march... perhaps, even a forced march for some six leagues until they came down upon their appointed positions. Here, they might rest awhile. The Chutak Horde was; in receipt of intelligences gathered; some ten, and five leagues to the north. They were though, coming on in swift array. Calamar's Engine Captains had laid their entrapment; the Engines of War were prepared, and the killing ground lay waiting to garner its harvest.

Out to the west; the galloper had intercepted the ride of the Elisriendell Range-Masters. As he was laying the despatch to the ears of the Captain, there came into their company, the Riders of Lothleitha and the Nemesis of Lothluthil. The second galloper had laid intercept, and apprised them of Tristan's strategy. A Council of Engagement was swiftly raised betwixt The Captain; Mahriel, Mistress of the Riders of Lothleitha; and the Nemesis Master, Khaartur. They elected that the Range-Masters would assail the rightmost flank of the Chutak Horde, and Mahriel and Khaartur would take the Lothleitha and Lothluthil Assault Cavalry to north, and engage the Corpse-Host in harass and harry. With tactics emplaced, the firstmost Guardians who had gathered at Rhom, detached from the warrior host and rode into the north. Here rode Eldamar, Tristan and Talith; Trillian, Marcus, Chelaine and Callam. Calamar was in the throat of the Mullock Flats with his Engines of War. He would make specific settle of his entrapment and then, lay the mantle of command upon his Engine-Master, Galbar Narabran. Thence, he would ride away northerly-east to join the Guardians. Cirion was riding in from the north, and t'was hoped, all would meet to west of the cairn of Donella. Then; they would ride to engage the Corpse-Host in sturdy array.

The youngling Guardians would ride with the Rhom cavalry. Beshlie fretted that she was not with her Riders of Lothleitha; but here, she would be safe from the Necromancers. Eldamar had prevised that Mahriel and Khaartur would choose to lay assault on the Corpse-Host with the Assault squadron formed from The Riders of Lothleitha and The Nemesis of Lothluthil. This would be no place for youngling Guardians; for the next generation of the Guardians of The Light was too precious to be squandered 'gainst this gruesome Host of witless, rotting carcasses and their terrible mentors.

As they rode north; in gazing across the borders of Lorenfalu, they watched the Rhom Host diminish from their sighting. Even now, faint carried on the winds out of the wastelands, came the distant, drifting boom of Chutak War-horns. They would have accomplished the northern reaches of the Mullock Flats by now. The Guardians rode on in company with the abiding slink and prowl of the Shadow-Wraiths all along the heights of Rhyddu; with their wailing, wordless cries of malignant seethe echoing the watchtowers in mingle with the whimpering winds off the Plain of Malphaers. A little beyond the Badger Grove, the company beheld a knot of riders coming on in haste from out of the north; the dust of their passing hanging pale in the morning air. As they cast off distance, it could be seen that here rode Cirion; in company with her armourer, Moyna; Lukas, and a trooper from the Royal Guard of Shandalar. As they were made welcome, Eldamar cast gaze into the west. The skies were darkening... but not the darkening of rain. 'Nay; it smelled of snow.

'Oft times it snowed in the late of the spring. T'was a disadvantage to battle; but no matter... t'would disadvantage the Chutak Horde in like measure; and there might even be a favour in this thing. The Chutaks would not perceive Calamar's Engines of War ranged across the throat of the Mullock Flats until they were well within their embrace of hurl. The snow... were it to manifest; would be in their faces.