Chapter Twelve.

The Hand of Baelar.

Eight leagues to northerly east; with the snow now easing; Eldamar gathered the Guardians in preparation for one more assail upon the Necromancers who flitted and slunk about within the body of the Corpse-Host. The snow had backed into the east, and the driving winds had settled. He gazed about his Guardians; they were tired, and there were now, but eight, since Torbair had departed with the Princess Serissea for Rhom. But then, there was Artanis; wild, beautiful Artanis. She would more than make up the sum, even though she was not a true Guardian. He sighed. No matter; they needs must take these abominations; 'else The End of the Shining Days would be upon them. Let there be one last, wild foray for the Guardians of The Light. Soon enough, they might all meet again in Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island, if the day went not well for their endeavour.

So; Eldamar called them to ride. With naked sword in hand, they charged down onto the Mullock Flats... then, of a sudden; all reined in, in complete disbelief. For the Corpse-Host suddenly quavered. A great shiver ran through their mass, and they sank to the reeking desolation of the flats. In the midst of the Host, the Guardians beheld sudden burstings of Golden light that flared and writhed briefly. They counted nine in sum. Then; all was still. Watchfully, they moved down onto the flats. All they beheld were rotting carcasses, bereft of movement. Here and there, Eldamar spied the dull, and baleful glint of a "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Witching bracelet, and a smoulder of black ashes.

The Guardians stared at each other in voiceless wonderment. For now, they were not to know that the Corpse-Host and their Necromancer Masters had ceased to exist at the very moment in passing that Beshlie of Calverstock drove the blade of her great Star-sword, "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" into Baelar; called too, "The Lord of The Underdark," in that terrible cavern below the scurvy Inn they called "The Raven;" some eight leagues to southerly-west of the killing ground of the Mullock Flats.

Eldamar and the Guardians gazed across this dreadful tract where nothing stirred, save the Shandalar warriors moving about the charnel in seek of fallen comrades who might yet still live. Calling Tristan to his side, Eldamar moved out onto the flats in seek of the "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Witching bracelets. The Necromancers were no more; but these pernicious trinkets must be gathered up, for they still held the very essence of the baleful Dominion of Baelar. They must be destroyed... or hidden far away from where they might be stumbled upon by chance, or by design, in future times by those who might elect to unleash their malignant power once again. As they were winnowing the killing ground for these poisonous ornaments, they beheld two riders coming in from southerly-west.

As they came closer, it was seen that they were the two Chosen Daughters of The Light: Kathalyn, and Beshlie of Calverstock. Picking their way with care through the sprawl of festering carcasses that had been the Corpse-Host; their eyes wide with disbelief and disrelish as they came on to Eldamar. Beshlie held forth a wrapment soaked through with a dripping blackness. She spoke; her voice strained at the aspect of the horror besetting the hooves of Cephus, her mount;

'My Lord; needs must, you take this "thing" into your keeping; for only with you shall it be secure.'

Eldamar took the wrapment, and unwound the sodden, and tainted linen. There, before his gaze, lay the severed hand, which, even now, grasped the sharded sword-hilt in the vice-like clench of lifelessness. The great Garnet pommel-stone was dulled and lustreless.

Beshlie and Kathalyn lay tell in full sum of this gruesome relic; and too, of all that had passed in the darkness of the slimy delve beneath "The Raven." He hearkened to them; his face grim. Then; he spoke...

'The hand of Baelar, you say? This abomination must be cast away into some place where it shall never be found; as must these nine Witching bracelets that we have gathered from this place. There is no charm of sturdy enough measure that shall keep them impotent; no matter that their Master be destroyed... if indeed he has so been. We must ride out of this place in swift accord to intercept Torbair, who rides for Rhom with the Princess Serissea. Mayhap, he shall know where, and howby, these dreadful things might be gelded of their malign sway upon our perseity. As to your tell of this black monstrosity's endmost foretoken; what then is a "Black Star?"... For I know of no such thing in the Heavens. And how might it bring about The End of the Shining Days? T'is a shiversomeness to the fancy and no misdeem there to be found. Perhaps, that was all t'was supposed to be; some vain wile to bestow affright upon you as this dreadful creature perished.'

There was little purpose in lingering in this place. Turning; the Guardians and the Forces of The Light made progress all down the Mullock Flats; wending their passage through the mass of sprawled Chutak carnage, until they came to the throat of the Flats where Calamar had emplaced his Engines of War. Many were the troopers who lay, all hacked and mangled about the emplacements; for the Forlorn Hope of the Chutak ride... being the firstmost of these vermin to lay full assail upon the emplacements when the Engines of War had laid off with their belching hurl; had fallen upon the troopers who were armed with 'naught else, but short stabbing swords and Engine-maw firming rods.

Then they came upon the Engine-Master: Galbar Narabran. He lay face upwards, dragging in his breath in convulsive, rattling snorts, and blowing it out in sputters of bloody froth that crawled in velvety drools down his cheeks; pooling itself alongside his neck and ears. A Chutak Karuk blade had chopped a yawning gouge into his skull above the temples; wherefrom his brain stuff oozed, dropping off in slender globs and strings. Such span in passing that he had laid thus was not for the knowing.

There was naught any might employ to ease his passing; save despatch him swiftly. Calamar elected that he would prosecute this thing. T'was the least he might do. Galbar Narabran had held true to his covenant, and Calamar was beholden... as were all the Guardians, and the Forces of The Light, to this wily old fox of an Engine-Master who had donned the mantle of command steadfastly, 'though he knew full well, of the manifest perils besetting the same.

Calamar knelt beside him, drawing his dagger. He bent to lay blade to throat... and then, he stayed his hand. For, into their midst there came a soft aura... a Golden aura which gathered form as they stared upon it. Softly, it took shape; and there, before them stood Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars. She moved to the rasping, wheezing ruin that was Galbar Narabran, and knelt beside him; saying in a soft, and gentle voice:

'Come Galbar; t'is time to disclaim this ruined husk to which you cling so stubbornly. Come you now, and let us depart this desolate place for Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island. The Karuk blade had fettered you here. It may not now drag you to the Abyss, for it no more has the power; but it mires you firmly in your ruination. Rise up, and let us begone.'

She laid her hands upon his brow, and a serene calm beset his twisted countenance. Then came the golden glow betwixt his lips as his Charas rose out. Menelwen… "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars gently enfolded the Golden Orb into her hands and slowly faded from their sight as the soft song of Sathulinan whispered on the whimper of the wind that even now, carried a dusting flurry of snow.

Eldamar and the firstmost Guardians made gather in company, and rode up onto the easterly shoulder of the Mullock Flats. Across the killing ground, nothing moved; save sometime here; sometime there; the swirl and dance of ash tugged and worried by the lowering wind. The black ash that had been the Necromancers, now stained and spoiled the mantle of fresh snow; bleeding darkly through its pristine whiteness. Eldamar cast gaze into the skies; a yellowing bulwark of cloud was building in the northerly east. Soon enough, would the icing winds come howling across the lands, from out of the frozen wastes of the Erinthor Ice Fields; choking all in a fresh mantle of deep, freezing whiteness.

There was little span in passing for the squander; those fallen of the Forces of The Light needs-must be gathered up from this vale of woe, and laid to cairn. So it was; a detachment of Lorenfalu warriors was raised to winnow the northern Mullock Flats in seek of their fallen comrades. T'was a gruesome and disrelishing task they embraced as they picked their way amongst the rotting remains of the Corpse-host.

At length, they gathered together four-hundred and one-half score. There may have been more, but they were not for the finding, and the storm was nigh upon them. As they had winnowed for the fallen, one more detachment was sent into the wastelands to seek out stone for the cairn. There was no stone here to be found, save masonry chippings; and so, they gathered such furnace spoil as they might carry.

The fallen were laid, one upon the other, as like cordings of timber are laid up for the winter; and the cairn was raised about them. T'was not an elegant edifice... being little more than a reverently tumbled mound, but it would hold them safe from carrion seekers for now. A true cairn would be raised when the weather softened, later in the spring.

At length; with the cairn raised, and the snow gathering in the wind; the Guardians and the Forces of The Light moved from off the northern reaches of the Mullock Flats. The drooling, festering remains of the Corpse-Host were left where they had fallen. There was no inclination to toil in scraping burial pits in this unforgiving lie of land. And more; to haul and heave these noisome, rotting carcasses from where they sprawled, was an imprudent barter with fate that some pestilence would not unleash itself upon them.

As they came down on the southernmost reaches of the Mullock Flats, t'was seen that in the throat of the Mullock flats was raised one more cairn for the fallen comrades. Here too; a great pyre was raised of the slaughtered Chutaks and their mounts. When all were gathered, the pyre stood some eighty-cubits in reach, and perhaps, two-hundred cubits in broad span. Here, were tumbled close on ten-thousand of these gruesome vermin and their mounts. The great pyre shuttered the throat of the Mullock flats, and when fired; would stink and pollute the skies to the north for the span of many moons in passing.

They came upon him, a little way to the west from the place where the Forces of The Light had gathered on the borders of the Khallis wastelands. Torbair of Aiuthal lay; his back against a furnace slag mound; in midst of a sprawl of hacked, and shredded Chutak carcasses. As they rode to him, he raised his hand in salutation, and they perceived that even this, lay a grave imposition of pain upon him. As Eldamar made dismount and knelt to him; Torbair gave a wry chuckle;

'T'would seem we are not so well met this day, old friend.'

Eldamar beheld Torbair in despair; seeing the paling countenance; the blood-soaked tunic, and the dragging breath. Swiftly, he cast gaze about. Where was the Princess Serissea? As if he had prospected Eldamar's thoughts, Torbair spoke;

'She is safe. When they rose about us, I laid a cloaking charm upon her, and set her towards the Badger Grove, yonder. There, you shall find her. T'were a sturdy affray; but with Chutaks before, and Shadow-Wraiths behind; there was small hope of taking the day.'

Eldamar watched the blood welling, and asked of Torbair;

'And have you a sturdy charm about you, to gather time enough for us to accomplish Rhom with you?'

Torbair coughed blood, and affected a strained, and wry grin;

'Na. I am skewered through by at least half of a dozen Karuk blades. There is no charm that will save me, this time. And yet, I previse that The Dark Lord is tumbled to ruin. I have taken too many spittings by Karuk blade not to be taken by The Darkness; but there is no creep of dread shadow upon me. It must be that his malevolent will is wiped from the land; and in this; it must be that he is brought to his doom by your hand. And more; of a sudden, the Shadow-Wraiths billowed into nothingness, one to the other... as if snuffing candle flames. Then, I knew for certain sure that his Dominion was spent.'

Eldamar nodded;

'Aye; he is brought to his doom; but not by my hand, nor that of Kathalyn. T'was Beshlie who destroyed him. T'would seem your presage in the matter of Beshlie of Calverstock that you set before Elshore at The Council Gatherment held you true, old friend.'

Torbair effected a laboured grin at this reveal.

'Aye; as I knew it would. Alas, my time is creeping upon me. I shall bid you farewell now, whilst I yet may, for we shall not meet again, old friend. My hindmost pathway leads not to Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island. We of the Moon-Algethi journey another way that is closed to you. Soon enough, shall I set my feet upon this pathway, for I perceive the Lady Menelwen… The Keeper of The Stars, attending me as we speak.'

Eldamar cast glance all about; but there was nothing to be seen, save his comrades in surround. Torbair spoke again, his voice fading swift...

'Fare thee well, old friend; I am saddened that I shall not see again, my Ithilwen; but that is the way of it. But, if naught else; remember this... There shall be no place for our kind of Magick in the days as yet, distantly unborn. The time of Enchantment wanders to its ending; but it has been a most worthy adventure we have shared, you, and I. My time is upon me. I am called away into the Moon-dells and may tarry no longer. Lay me in the Badger Grove un-cairned; for there shall I be in company with the creatures of the moonlight.'

He made slump in Eldamar's arms. Thus, passed Torbair of Aiuthal; famed Gold-smith of Elisriendell; Craft-Master of the High Moon-Magick, and Knight of The Eternal Watchtower.

As he watched, and mourned his comrade Knight, Eldamar saw no Charas make to rise out. He saw Torbair gradually spread through with a faint, silvery radiance which faded as softly as it had manifested; and knew, without doubting, that his old friend was now gone into some other place.

Heavy of heart, Eldamar and Tristan laid Torbair across a war-charger, and made ride with the company of Guardians towards the Badger Grove, some pair or so, of leagues to the southerly east. Entering therein, they sought out some place where they might lay Torbair as he had petitioned them so to do. The Guardians spread out in seek of the Princess. She would yet be here; for she was a prudent maid, and would have heeded such bidding as Torbair would have laid upon her. In a little while, Cirion came from out of the greening in company with Serissea. They perceived the soak of her blood through her Mail corselet. 'Aye; she had opened her wounding once more. Needs must, she be ridden to Rhom in all haste. There; Cuchulain, Churgeon to Tristan could attend her.

Cirion elected to ride Serissea to Rhom. Serissea decried; t'was but a scratch. In truth, she fretted what humour her mother would embrace when she tumbled to the knowing that Cuchulain had shared a bed with her daughter. As they rode down through the soft pastures of Lorenfalu, Cirion beheld the chary demeanour of Serissea. In a little while, she looked to her daughter, saying;

'So then; are you of a resolve to make bond with this lover that you have taken?'

Serissea gave a start, and stared at her mother.

'But; how would you have prevised this thing? For no tell has been laid in concern of this matter.'

Cirion bestowed Serissea a gentle smile;

'A mother knows of these things, daughter mine. T'is an instinct that we possess. Why did you not apprise me of this newness?' Thought you that I would lay fret and chivvy upon your happiness?'

Serissea regarded her mother with an uncertain stare;

'Aye, mother; that is the sum of it. He, whom I have chosen is of common standing, and I prevised...'

Cirion laughed;

'La; you beset yourself with foolish imagine. The heart holds no cavil of standing in the matter of the one that it chooses. T'is only your compeers who shall embrace that affectation; and they matter not at all in the sum of this thing. You forget; your father was, but a Captain of the Shandalar Guard when I made choose of him. T'is close to common custom in the House of Shandalar. My mother, and too, my mother's mother chose in like kind. Indeed; the firstmost, Great Dam of our House... Serissea of Galeth so chose The Lord Calamar as her lover; though there was no true Troth-bond there laid at all. So; daughter mine; you are not the first, and t'is most certain-sure that you shall not be the last to tread upon this pathway. Who then, is your chosen one?'

Serissea laid cautious gaze at her mother. At length, she spoke;

'T'is Cuchulain, Churgeon to my Uncle Tristan. Please tell me you have no prowl of cavil, mother.'

Cirion smiled;

'I hold no cavil. He is gentle and kind; and too... a deal nobler than many of the Lordlings in my Court. Perhaps, he is a little sturdier in his store of summers than I would choose; but then, my choose matters not at all, in this issue. There is no cavil here to find; daughter mine; you could indeed, do manifestly worse in the choose of your heart.'

And no more there, to be said. As they rode the last few leagues down into Rhom, the flurries of snow made wane, and a timid springtime sun smiled softly upon their progress.

At the Badger Grove, Eldamar and Tristan prospected a seemly place where Torbair could be laid. Soon enough, they came upon a little dell compassed about by rowan and hazel. It would serve well enough; for here, he could sleep the Great sleep amidst company of the creatures of the Moonlight... as he had so elected. They scoured him a hollow, a pair of cubits in deeping; and laid him down therein in manner the same as would be laid a warrior maid... with his head to the east, and his feet to the west. His Great sword of the Old Moon Magick: "Lossehelin Ruthuviel" was laid upon him, and his hands folded about her hilt. They saw that the great Moonstone in its pommel, no more, held glister. Indeed; Torbair of Aiuthal had gone into some other place. They raised a mound of branch and brushwood over him... for he had decried a stone cairning; and stood silent for not some little span in passing.

Eldamar pondered. The Dark Lord, Baelar was cast down, but the score had been bitter. His thoughts wandered amongst those who had been lost. His Mirien Goldenwand; the Lord Filar; Beckstrider, the Sorceress Shahran; and those of The Brotherhood of FionnMhor. Then, there was the Guard Captain Karina of Shandalar... and, as like... little Caron, her paramour. And there were more... too many more. The reckoning unfolded ever onwards; Arlanna; Laurre Aldaval... little Feawen Arcamen and her unborn babe; Ainariel Fefalas, The Revered Mother of the Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel. Then, there were the Witching Mistress, Justalyn of Luxtan; the Mage of Eredun and her companion Alyx.

And yet, there were still more... The younglings of Trethan, Sword Master of Chandar; and all those Seunaian warrior maids who had perished at Sennragen. All those of Khallis, and Rhyddu, and Ling. The Cabal maids of Bradda; and now, the tally of the Mullock Flats... and, at the end... Laumil; and most bitterly... Torbair.

Eldamar sighed. So many lost. When came the weighing and balance of tally, it was to him, and him alone that the reckoning need be laid. Was this bitter harvest worthy of the prize? In his sentiment, it never could be so. The Third Age of The Light was secure; but at what cost? Tristan had watched, as his father pondered. Now, he laid hand upon Eldamar's shoulder, saying...

'Father; contemplate this: Each and all took up sword in good heart to defend that which they believed was right and true. None weighed the cost, and 'nor should you; for they would not have you do so. Come now; t'is time to leave this place, and ride for Rhom.'

As they rode out to the south, Eldamar cast hindward gaze to that lonesome mound in the little dell compassed about by rowan and hazel. And... as he so did; from somewhere in the hazel thickets, there came upon the air, the brilliant warble and trill of the first Nightingale of the springtime.

In Rhom, Serissea was brought to Cuchulain in haste, by Cirion. He beheld, with sturdy fretting, the bloodstains about the wound that he had so delicately stitched so that she would mend in lack of blemish. He made exasperated blurt;

'Foolish wench; that you should so easily forsake my counsel and ride out to war when I had plainly forbidden the same. See now, what you have gathered in consequence of your stubbornness.'

Cirion spoke softly.

'Master Cuchulain; have a care. Press not your chastening beyond of the bounds of precept. For though you may be my daughter's chosen lover, t'would be wise to hold remembrance that she is too, a Princess of Shandalar.'

Cuchulain stared at Cirion.

'Majesty; she has laid the tell of our union to you? I...'

Cirion smiled softly,

'Nay, Sirrah; not at the first... but a mother may previse such a thing in the humour of her daughter; and, at length, Serissea did lay the truth upon me. Look you not so downcast; I hold no cavil. Such choose as I may embrace matters not at all, in this issue, 'an you be veritable in your suit and do not possess a silver tongue that wags both ways, with neither the truthing.'

Serissea breached her mother's parley; saying,

'T'is not before Cuchulain that you should lay this issue; mother. T'was I who commanded him to my bed, though he made sturdy resist to my demand. T'was I who played the strumpet; and not he who was seducer.'

Cuchulain stood; head bowed, voiceless and a'feared of the reproach that he knew would soon beset him about. Then, Cirion smiled.

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'You are indeed, your mother's daughter, milady. My demeanour was much the same as yours, when, at the first, I set my choose upon your father. Come now, Master Cuchulain; pray calm your anxiousness. T'would be most singularly imprudent, and unbecoming upon my part, to chastise you for this thing that I have tasted myself. So now; come, mend my daughter, and we shall debate again, another time.'

Thence, turning; with the faintest of smiles upon her lips; Cirion departed the dispensary. Cuchulain turned again to Serissea, saying...

'So then, divest you of your garb and let me perceive what depth of meddle you have manifested upon my craft.'

Serissea made wince as she pulled her chemise up over her head, then lay back upon the bed before him. Her heal had sundered in part; and so, he gently washed the same with tincture of Alfirin. As he so did, he bestowed upon her a wry smile, saying...

'And your chastisement for your recklessness shall be that you needs must now curb and bridle your passion for above a pair of moons in passing.'

Serissea bestowed upon him a sturdily petulant pout. Then, seeing that this afforded her no advantage; she lay back with a heartsome sigh, as Cuchulain reached for needle and spider-silk.

At the gates of Rhom; Eldamar bid farewell to Tristan and turned, to ride the pair of leagues westward to The Delvlings and Calverstock. He carried in his panniers, the lastmost blightings of The Darkness... being the severed hand of Baelar, which yet clutched the sharded sword hilt; as passed into his charge by Beshlie of Calverstock; and the nine, venomous "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Witching bracelets gathered from off the northernmost reaches of the Mullock Flats where the nine terrible Necromancers of Baelar had embraced their destruction, complete. These malevolent relics needed to be gelded of all trace and shadow of the dreadful black power they might, even now, hold in prevailment; and thus, they need be cast beyond all possibility of melding in recur.

In his ponder as he rode towards The Delvlings; Eldamar devised resolve on this issue. Torbair would have known... were he not lost. But, there was Calelindi. She was from out of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil... as was Torbair. If any would hold the knowing... it would be her.

The Delvlings were soft, and shaded; the Moonflowers were in full bloom, and all was tranquil, save for the call of fat wood pigeons echoing the greening, and the odd clatter, as those disturbed by his passing took to wing. A little farther; and there, rose the stout Palisade walls of Calverstock. Entering in through the great gate, he rode for the forge. T'was, as like, he would encounter Calelindi there in company with Elshore.

Hearkening to the eternal creak and screak that the forge door effected as it was pushed ajar; Elshore turned, and beheld Eldamar. Laying his hammer upon the anvil; with great felicitation and relief, he cried;

'My Lord, you are returned safe. Went the day well?'

Eldamar replied;

'Aye, in part, and nay in the remain. The Dark Lord is tumbled to ruin, and his minions destroyed; but our losses were grievous. Torbair and The Lord Laumil are lost to us... though Laumil was, in truth, lost to us many moons since past. T'was revealed that the Laumil who walked among us was no less than The Dark Lord Baelar in cloak. How he breached the Enchanted Girdle is not truly for the knowing. It must be that he transformed the Lord Laumil into a walking corpse and cloaked himself about with Laumil's fettered Charas as he made to gather intelligences amongst us. In sum, methinks we have lost something above five thousand of the comrades of The Light. Khallis is ruined; scarcely one Thuvian remains to watch the setting of the sun, this day. Our forces are bone-weary and scattered; many are wounded, for it was vicious affray; but we have prevailed in the main, and have laid some ten thousand Darkling vermin to waste.'

Laying the panniers upon the forge floor, he asked that Elshore go bid Calelindi to attend, for there was a needful endeavour to be prosecuted. Alone in the forge, Eldamar pondered on what had come to passing. How had The Dark Lord Baelar effected a breach of the Enchanted Girdle to take Laumil? It must be that this incurse prevailed through the reach of the Girdle, as yet unsettled; when Torbair rode down through the Beechwoods of Elisriendell in company with the Riders of Lothleitha as he progressed on from laying the enchantment about the White stones of Foxcote.

As he contemplated the same; then, came Elshore and Calelindi into the forge. As she stepped within; Calelindi suddenly... froze. Her soft, brown eyes were wide with unease and, not a little fearing. She spoke softly, her voice tight...

'My Lord Eldamar, there is a banefulness in this place. It strives to free itself and beset us about with doom. What then, have you brought into our midst?'

Eldamar pointed to the pannier slumped upon the floor of Elshore's forge.

'T'would be what is snared within yonder pannier. T'is the sum of the Witching bracelets taken from off the Mullock Flats, and the mightiest bane of all... the sundered sword-hand of Baelar himself. I seek your counsel as to how we might geld these dreadful things; for Torbair is lost to us, and methought you my last, best hope, Calelindi. Mayhap, Elshore might melt down the bracelets, and craft a casket that would secure this malevolent relic.'

Calelindi drew breath as she stared in alarm at the pannier.

'My Lord; there is no charm that I might weave to shelter Elshore from this malignant aspect that creeps and sidles about within this pannier. There is, but one device that might be employed to shield him in this endeavour. The Lothluthil Rowan is all that I may deem as worthy. The charcoals for the forge needs must be of this Rowan specific; none other will prevail. The forge hammers need be newly shafted with fresh-cut Rowan wood, and the whole sum of the pannier be compassed by a rowan wicker-wove creel whilst the crafting be accomplished. Thence; the baleful casket so crafted, need be sealed within another casket wrought from Leissor; and the whole be compassed about by wicker-wove Rowan. Only in this, might we thwart such malignity as these dreadful devices yet embrace.'

Eldamar beheld her with watchful gaze. She bode him no puffery in this thing; the truth of her fear stood plain in her eyes. He sighed.

'I betokened no jeopardy upon you when I came into this place; but, it would seem that I have brought in the same, nonetheless. I know of no Lothluthil Rowan about this place, and Elisriendell be too far distant to effect such a gather.'

Calelindi stayed his despondency.

'No matter; my Lord. I know of a place close by; where grows such a stand of Lothluthil Rowan. They flourish about the long-forgotten Hill Fort upon Grimspound Brea. They were planted up there, at distance, all about the great standing stone that is carved deep with ancient runic symbols. Methinks they were a significance in such ancient Rituals that betided that place.'

So it was; Calelindi went out with a patrol of troopers to gather of the Lothluthil Rowan from off Grimspound Brae. She rode with them so that she might lay invocation of thanks upon the Rowans as they were cropped of their hallowed boughs. Meantime, Eldamar and Elshore toiled at cleansing the forge of its common charcoal.

Four Sundial shadow-spans in passing, and Calelindi returned. Her troopers had gathered some eight cords of Lothluthil Rowan and so, now, could the endeavour begin. She had brought sprays of the delicate, creamy-white flower clusters, which she set about the pannier. She secured a spray of the same to the jerkins of Elshore and Eldamar, and settled one more in her hair. Now; and only now, could the pannier be opened, and the baleful containment be brought forth.

The forge was laid with Rowan kindling and fired. Rowan wood was piled thereon, and the forge-hood secured so that the charcoaling would ensue therein. Meantime, the carpenter of Calverstock was furnished with Rowan bough and Elshore's tools, and bidden to craft new shafts for all. The Witching bracelets were brought from out the pannier and laid upon a bed of Rowan settled upon Elshore's workbench. Still, they gave forth evil glitter, and bestowed upon Calelindi, a cold shudder.

Elshore pondered the bracelets. There was slender sum of metal to their muster. Such a casket as Eldamar had prescribed; being one hand-span in deeping, the same in breadth; and two hand-spans in reach would be woefully thin of wall; small imposition to craft... but woefully thin. The Leissor casket that would, at length, accommodate it, needs must be of sturdier fettle in full sum. And more; Elshore knew not of the metal from which the bracelets were crafted. T'was a silvery-grey, and to his knowing eye, seemed not as hard as true silver. He stretched out a hand to lift one from the pannier. Calelindi rushed forwards and snatched his hand away; he must not touch it.

At length, the Rowan in the forge had charcoaled. Now, Elshore laid a crucible for the melting of the bracelets, firm into the heart of the Forge-bed. Laying hand to the bellows lever, he pumped with vigour until its base cheerfully glowed. Eldamar drew forth the bracelets, one by the one, with a wand of Rowan, and laid them into the crucible. In a slender span in passing all were abated into a silvery melt. In this, was common aspire that now passed the bane of the "Haldrig en'Seregnir" Witching Bracelets.

Elshore had laid a square platter into a melding of the singularly cunning, soft stone that would yet prevail from the heat of the moulding. T'was first found in the depths of the Thuvian Mines of Khallis; soft, white and powdery; easily cut, or crushed to powder. Some called it Gypsum, and some called it Chalk.

T'was thought to be of little virtue at all, yet when it was fired, and thence, ground to a powder; if then the sum were mixed with water, this powdered stone grew hot and quickly then, did this strange mixture grow hard. Here, it stood singular perfect for moulding fine metal. For when cooled, one sturdy blow would most swiftly cast off the fragments of mould that beset the fine moulding, leaving only the moulding to view. Whence the aforesaid platter was removed after the reach of perhaps, a half Sundial shadow-span, the powdered stone was seen to have set hard into the shape needed to effect a single sheet of metal.

Now; Elshore brought the crucible from the forge, and poured the liquid therein. This sheet of metal... when cooled and hardened, would be folded and cut to craft casket... the first. This too, would be the manner in which he would craft the Leissor casket that would accommodate the first. At length, the pour of metal became firm.

Calelindi yet held fretful intuition that the Rowan might not shield Elshore from the balefulness that the very metal even yet, seemed to possess. She petitioned him to hold hard from touching the glittering sheet. Elshore snorted;

'Pshaw! I needs must take this to hand, to cut and bend, 'ere it discards all warmth; for then it may become brittle and shivery, for I know not of its demeanour in fettle.'

He made to reach out and lift the same... and then, he did not. For a soft glow slowly manifested close by his anvil. The glow gathered form, and there, before them stood Menelwen... "Varyon en'Tarsi"… Keeper of The Stars; who stayed the hand of Elshore, saying;

'Hold hard, Sword-Master; the intuition of Calelindi stands truthful in this matter. The Rowan has fettered the malevolence, but has not the power to geld it complete. 'An you lay hold of this balefulness as you stand; then, t'is certain-sure that you shall be taken.'

Elshore stared at her;

'How then, might I fettle the require of the Lord Guardian, if I may not take the sum of this metal to hand?'

Menelwen smiled softly;

Fret not; Sword-Master. The Great Mother; Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being" shall hold you safe in her Dreaming, in manner, thus...'

She reached out her hands and laid them upon Elshore. The Golden aura that beset her crept down her arms and wreathed itself about him. She nodded her contentment.

'Now you may geld and fettle this baleful thing to the require of the Lord Eldamar; for its malignant sway shall swill from your hands as does water spill from off a mallard's feathers.'

Elshore reached forth to strike the thin, glittering sheet from out the mould. As he so did; laying hand upon the same; then came a shiversome shrill from thereout. T'was like, no song that metal made as it cooled; the very tinkle laid siege to their senses in a smother of angst. Offering no heed to this sinister melody, Elshore laid the metal upon his anvil and, with his armouring shears, made the first cut. As he so did, there came a mettle-shredding shriek that echoed the forge.

Calelindi clutched at Eldamar's arm; glancing around the shadowy corners of the forge... her eyes wide in fear. But there was nothing there. Elshore cut again, but no shriek came in trail of the first. Soon enough, all the cutting was accomplished and Elshore turned his hand to the folding.

The sides and ends of the casket were folded up from the flat of the bottom of the casket; and were secured with one more fold about each of the four corners that Elshore called a "flange." In this, t'was perceived that the casket would hold secure. Soon enough he had crafted a box, and all that remained was to fold down the portion that would be the lid.

Now, would come the dreadful part of this endeavour... the placing of the gruesome relic that was the hand of Baelar, into the casket. Elshore stepped across the forge to where the pannier lay, and softly brushed aside the sprigs of Rowan blossom. He lifted the pannier and moved to the casket that lay upon the anvil table. He cast a disquisitive glance to Menelwen, who nodded her assent. With stern caution, he reached down into the pannier and lifted forth the grisly relic. The severed hand yet clasped the sharded sword in a vice-like, deathly grip; its mighty garnet pommel-stone drabbed, and lacklustre.

But... as Elshore made to lay it to its eternal prisoning; suddenly... deep within the heart of the Garnet, there flared a tiny, blood-red spark. T'was there for, but, a moment in passing, and an indolent gaze would as like, have failed to descry the same. Elshore though; beheld it, and swiftly, yet with great care, dropped the odious device within the casket. Swiftly, he folded down the piece that was the lid, and folded the last flange.

Pale of countenance at what he had perceived... of what had stricken him with an awful dreading; he laid Rowan blossom sprigs upon the lid and removed the casket to its bed of Rowan settled upon his workbench. He turned again, and as they beheld his affrighted countenance... Menelwen spoke;

'Aye, Sword-Master; you saw the faint flicker of his pestilential will in the dying Garnet, even now. Take you care with the Leissor snare that you will set about this venomous casket. Heed Calelindi in her counsel of your craft; for she has the knowing. The will of Baelar clutches, and lays ambit about you, and so shall it persevere until it be laid beyond all reach. Mark you well; this thing is a Destroyer of Worlds. It is near-gelded, but may yet sway its destiny to malignant advantage. But now, I must leave you. Fare you well; and may you ever be held in the Dreaming of Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being."

As they watched; the golden image of Menelwen softly faded from their presence; leaving only the gentle glow besetting Elshore in the remain.

Elshore glanced at Calelindi, who regarded her bond-mate with concern in her soft, brown eyes. He spoke, and his voice was steady...

'So then; tell me how I needs must craft this Leissor casket. The billets are in melt, and the mould is prepared. Methought to pour, as if, in full moulding, with this thing set at its heart. Does this abide with such counsel as you might bestow?'

Calelindi gazed at Elshore for a little while.

'Chide me not, my love; I had no knowing of this until She came amongst us. I would not lay contumelious bidding upon you in the manner of your craft.'

Elshore smiled;

'Aye; I know you would not. Forgive me; my humour is a little awry, for it has been a most curious day.'

He turned to the corner of the forge and drew forth another block of the moulding mixture. Herein, he had fashioned a scooping in manner of a deeping square wherein the fettled first casket might lie with a sturdy space all about its reach... this to gift a resolute deeping to the compassing Leissor pour. Into this cavity, he carefully emplaced two thin blocks of a hard wood. He gently placed the casket containing the gruesome relic upon these blocks. Thence, he brought the crucible forward from the forge bed and made pour the shimmering Leissor into the mould; leaving a little in the crucible, which he lay back into the white-hot charcoals of the forge.

With the pour to mould accomplished; there would be the need to squander close on the passing of one Sundial shadow span, 'ere the Leissor pour would settle to hardening, and the crafting could be brought to completeness. Calelindi made gather a bundle of Rowan wands. With these, she would weave a containment to compass the Leissor casket. As they strolled the common ground of Calverstock, she took her leave and made progression to the Women's Hall to accomplish this task. Eldamar and Elshore wandered the common ground as Eldamar lay tell of the issues of the day.

As they walked, Eldamar spoke of all that Beshlie had told; concerning the dreadful cavern beneath the scurvy Inn, they called "The Raven." He told of the creeping dread that had beset both Beshlie and Kathalyn as they progressed the dark and slimy deeps of the passage. He told of the manifestation of Baelar in guise of Laumil. He told of the False Beshlie; saying...

'Were it not for your peerless skill in blade fettle; not only would The Light be certainly now tumbled, but I would have lost Kathalyn. T'was not the Sword of The Light: "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth" that brought Baelar to his dooming; more... t'was Beshlie's sword: "Amrun Tarsi"… "Star of the Morning" that sharded his dreadful blade that you are now caging in its Leissor prison; and tumbled him to ruin. 'Aye; he was brought to his doom by the Mighty Star-Sword of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi; The Guardians of The Star of The East, that you reclaimed to magnificent fettle from its ruination at the hands of the barbarian lackeys of the tyrant Berenvag. In this; I am resolved that our prevailment lies at your door, and none other; for had we not your blades to hand, t'is most certain-sure that we would have all gone down into the Darkness. For your service to The Oneness of The Light, you shall be raised to Knight Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower.'

Elshore stared at Eldamar;

'But, my Lord, I am common sword-maker. I bear not the lineage to be Knight...'

Eldamar stayed him;

'You forget, old friend, Menelwen… Keeper of The Stars, bestowed upon you the espousal of Blade-Master of The Eternal Watchtower; as did I raise you from that, to Companion of The Eternal Watchtower. T'is but a small pace to becoming Knight of The Eternal Watchtower, and it is done. The Council of The Light has elected it shall be so; and so shall it be. Henceforth, you shall be The Lord Elshore of Amriath, with stipend according to your standing.'

Elshore made to prosecute some dispute; but, beholding the set of the countenance of Eldamar in this matter, he knew that t'would be a futile endeavour. There was no purpose in declaim; this matter was settled.

Having made compass about the common ground of Calverstock a pair of times; and still, a space in passing to be squandered 'ere the moulding would be complete; Eldamar and Elshore climbed up onto the bratticing that strode all along the inner reaches of the Palisade walls. In parts; from their advantage of loftiness upon the eastern stand of the wall, they could gaze above the greening canopy of The Delvlings almost unto Rhom... and certainly, could perceive the distant thrust of the heights of Rhyddu. To northerly east, a great plume of darkening, and foetid smoke stained the sky. This was the vast Chutak pyre on the southerly reaches of the Mullock Flats, which would burn, and sully the blue skies of Lorenfalu for a sturdy span in passing. Elshore watched the swelling reek for a little while, and then; turning to Eldamar, nodded; saying,

'T'is passing strange, how that, which comes to beholding; soon enough, stands in the recur. Once, we stood, You and I, and watched the smoke-stained skies out to easterly, and knew it to be the bitter harvest of The Darkness in its ravage of Astalan. Now, we watch the smoking skies once more, and know it is the sweet harvest of victory for The Oneness of The Light. Tell me, My Lord; is this truly an end to it? Have we indeed, secured the Third Age of The Light? Is Amriath now safe from the ravages of the Abyss?'

Eldamar made study of his old comrade, who had turned again to behold the darkening stain in the skies. He sighed.

'T'is my best-held hope that this is so. We have wrested a hollow triumph in this matter. Many are the comrades we have forfeited since this conflict manifested about our cherished concord. T'is to be hoped that their perishing is not proven to be worthless in the times yet to come.'

Then, turning about to tread again, their foregoing wander along the bratticing; he further declared,

'Come now; let us repair to the forge. We have squandered the best part of a Sundial-shadow in this reflection of what has come to passing. Let us discharge the remain of the pour, to prison this malignant relic beyond the dawning of such times when the Age that we know is lost in the mists of forgetfulness.'

Entering into the forge; still, the whisper of malignancy seemed to creep about in the shadows cast by the glowing forge-bed. Elshore moved to the mould and peered within. He nodded, and laid a watchful hand to the mould. Turning to Eldamar, he grinned.

'Aye; t'is set. Now to pen this monstrosity for all time.'

He moved to his workbench and drew forth a slender sheet of Leissor. With his armouring shears, he snipped out two slender squares and brought them to his anvil. With a hammer of trifling stature, he hammered the edges of each square over, in manner that he called "flanges." This, he imparted to each side of the square until it favoured a tiny platter; the like of which might hold signet wax. Content with his crafting; he stepped to the mould, and with a shoeing hammer of some three cloves in weighting, smote the side of the aforesaid mould, which crumbled, and sprang asunder, laying the glittering Leissor casket to their sight.

Heedful of the warmth; he turned the casket over and drew out the two thin blocks of the hard wood upon which the baleful casket now prisoned within, had rested whilst the pour to mould was accomplished. He slipped the two Leissor squares down into the pockets that the wood blocks had denied closure by the Leissor pour, and settled them home with gentle taps of hammer and blunted chisel. Moving to the forge-bed, he brought forth the crucible that held the remain of the Leissor melt, and carefully poured the shining liquid into the first of the pockets of the casket. As he so did; there came once more, the mettle-shredding shriek that echoed the forge, as it had so done at the first, when he laid shears to the moulded sheet that had been the Witching bracelets.

With the first pocket brimmed; he made pour into the second, and as the Leissor seethed and shimmered as it filled the pocket; so then, did the shriek fade away into a nothingness. And, as like, the sunshine smiling down through waning storm-clouds; so then, did the creep of the malignant aura that had beset the forge, fade away.

As they attended, whilst the pour fumed and eddied; slowly gathering hardness; came then, Calelindi into the forge. She bore the Rowan wicker basket she had crafted to secure the Leissor casket and its malignant 'prisoned lading. As she came into the forge, she paused, her pretty nose upturned and making sniff the air... as if she were some wild creature... say... Vixen or Mother Wolf. Turning to Eldamar, softly, she spoke...

'I sense no linger of malignancy in this place. The Evil is trammelled for all time in this tomb of Leissor. We have prevailed in this perilous endeavour, My Lord.'

Eldamar smiled;

'Aye; t'would seem we have. But there is no require for you to title me "Lord;" for I have raised Elshore to Knight of The Eternal Watchtower, in regard of his Great works for The Oneness of The Light; and so, you are now The Lady Calelindi of Amriath; being of equal standing to me. Thus, I would have you call me Eldamar.'

Calelindi beheld him; wide of eye, and silent of voice for a little while. Then, she spoke.

'But; I am as I ever was... I am Calelindi, Enchantress of Calverstock. I am no Lady of Amriath. I am from out of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil; daughter of Aistara, the Enchantress. I am not highborn, 'nor tutored in the ways of such Nobles as you would beset about me.'

Eldamar smiled once more.

'Aye; those of you who are Enchantresses, are a feisty sisterhood. Nonetheless, this is a done thing which cannot be undone. Elshore is Lord of Amriath, and thus are you, Lady. Now; no more of this bandage. Come; give us your opine of the crafting, and lay tell as to whether it embraces your require.'

For a little while, Calelindi stood in stubborn decry of her new-found station. Then, with a sigh, she came to the Leissor casket. It lay, as if, t'were a block of Leissor, through and through; with no seam 'nor joinings to behold. Calelindi nodded her assent; saying,

'T'is a fair fettle; but then, I held no wayward regard t'would not be so; for my Lord is consummately accomplished in his Art. All that is now needful, is the graving of a stern counsel, writ plain upon the casket in the matter of curb of meddle.'

Elshore sighed;

'Had you so apprised me of the same, beforehand; then such graving could have been carved into the mould 'ere I made pour. No matter; my Leissoreum Gravers with which I 'bellish sword blades will serve well enough. Apprise me of such wording as is your wont, and I shall effect the same thereon.'

Calelindi smiled;

'Nay, My Lord; You have toiled in this, in ample measure. Take you the Lord Eldamar away for a pot or two of ale to wash the fume of pour from your throats. I shall effect the graving, for I know what must be done.'

And they saw there was no gainsay they might bring to bear in this matter.

In the Calverstock Tavern; Eldamar and Elshore pondered on where the casket might be concealed away from all prospect of chance discovery; be it unwitting stumble, or singular design. At length; and in trail of something more than a pair of pots of ale, they determined that the casket should be buried in some lonesome place far out in The Delvlings; 'neath a sturdy handful of cubits of fair Amriath earth.

When, at length, they repaired to the forge, they beheld that Calelindi had discharged her task in consummate accord. The Leissor casket lay upon Elshore's workbench; the graving glittering in the forge-glow. She had girdled it about with an exquisite, deep graving in fashion of a garland of Lothluthil Rowan Leaves, compassing about the stern, and plain-writ counsel in the common tongue, which read thus:

"Behold. Herein is trammelled The Evil of all time.

Seek not its deliverance, for there is none.

Meddle not with this Abomination,

for it is The Destroyer of Worlds."

Elshore smiled;

'A worthy crafting, my love; indeed, as worthy as I might have effected myself.'

Calelindi nodded;

'Why; thank you, My Lord. Now, let us lay this gruesome relic into the Rowan wicker basket. This shall be the third fettering compassing it about. It shall not sunder these bonds with impunity. Thence; we must cast it away from our society into some place where it shall never be found.'

Eldamar told of their deliberations in the Tavern; of how they had resolved that the casket be buried out in The Delvlings. Calelindi nodded;

'Aye; that is as sound as any, and I know of such a place. Let us repair there forthwith.'

Securing a pair of sturdy ditching spades, Eldamar and Elshore set out from Calverstock in company with Calelindi to the place of which she had spoken. She led them through the greening to a secluded place some half-a-league to the west of Fairbeech Hollow. Here, was a little dell where grew a small stand of Rowan... Lothluthil Rowan. Eldamar stood confounded. How came this tree to be here? Calelindi smiled.

'See you now, my secret place. These revered trees were planted from slips I brought out from Lothluthil whence first I came here as Enchantress of Calverstock. We shall bury the casket within the stand, and this shall be the fourth fettering.'

Eldamar and Elshore lay shoulder to spade. Soon enough, they had hollowed out a worthy pit of some fiv- cubits in deeping. Calelindi bent, and settled the wicker-bound casket within. She stood aside as Eldamar and Elshore filled the pit with the lifted soil. When all was secure, she held forth her hands and spoke some intonement in a tongue they knew not of... as if she were communing with the Rowans. Turning away, she spoke.

'T'is done. There shall be no more Darkness to blight Amriath in days that are left to us.'

Eldamar beheld the fresh patch of earth betwixt the Rowans, and lay sentiment to himself;

'Let us pray to the Great Mother that you are not cozened in your certitude, Calelindi. 'Aye; let us indeed hope that this is the truthing.'