Chapter Five.

Segartis, The Throng Mistress of Seuna,.

To the north, at Amberdrove; came news of a calamity. A band of Laurana's young partisans had forayed a raid upon one more Horanaurk Naigias. A single, sorely wounded skirmisher maid had returned. Her tale was that they had laid skirmishing assault on the Naigias, only to discover that therein lay in wait, a Tur-anion Death Cabal. The maids stood no chance against these seasoned butchers. They had despatched four with their crossbows, but were cut down with consummate ease. Two of the maids were taken captive and dragged within.

The wounded maid had feigned death in the long grasses, pierced through as she was, with a crossbow quarrel, and watched as the Tur-anion Death Cabal had removed the captive maids to a granary barn hard by the Naigias, there, to be questioned as to the place where might be found their leader: this "Vagehal Hetenloske Mahok"… "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut." The maid had striven to make her way back to Amberdrove to lay the alarm. This had taken her two moons to accomplish, and t'was certain-sure that her captive companions had already shrieked out the tell of this place as they had been cruelly tortured.

Laurana pondered swiftly. Amberdrove was secure; these barbarian vermin would not breach this place. They would hold here in attendance of such manifestation as would come. Shonah, her Astalanic Golden Puma was out in the Forest of Aldreth, and this was advantage indeed. No Horanaurk would dare lay foot within the forest while Shonah prowled therein.

Laurana would ride out with a pair of maids in escort to elicit how this thing lay, and whether there was any hope for her two captured maids. Laying instruction specific, that anything that moved in the forest was to be held as hostile, and engaged; other of course, than Shonah; she rode out with her chosen maids a little beyond the zenith of the day.

They held on the edge of the forest, overlooking the broad way that wended from where the ill-fated assault on the Naigias had taken place. Her escort lay beside her in the tall grass, each with a fortified crossbow with soft-headed quarrels loaded thereto. The wait was not long in standing. There, upon the road came a victuals cart. There was, but one, who rode it, and he did not hold the appearance of a sturdy Horanaurk warrior. Laurana swiftly reloaded her crossbow with a common quarrel, and bid her escort to stay concealed. Then she moved down towards the broad way. She saw that it was not a victual cart, and the driver was not a Horanaurk. Her eyes grew hard and cold. T'was a charnel cart which the barbarians used to convey their dead. Therein, was the glimpse of bloodstained blonde hair. The blood was red.

The driver reined in; his eyes wide in terror at the sight of this tall, female warrior who stood on the broad way denying his passage. She saw with disgust, that he was "Amras Melwasul"… a half-blood; the issue of some disrelishing and as like, enforced rut betwixt a Tarak and an Algethi. These half-bloods held no allegiance to The Light, and insinuated themselves into the favours of the Horanaurks; being spies or informers, or both in the same.

He stared at her; his pale, yellow eyes wide with terror. She held him in sight with her spanned crossbow, and made motion he should climb down from the cart. Whilst he stood there trembling; his fear coursing down his crooked, and stunted legs, she glanced into the cart. There, lay the two ruined bodies of her skirmisher maids.

She turned to him; he saw the terrible look in her eyes and began to babble in his mongrel Algethi. The crossbow loosed its bolt, taking him in his right knee, shattering the bone. He fell screaming and writhing, before her. Spanning her bow again, she told him the next bolt would be in his belly. She bid him cease his prattle, and then with icy cold voice, ordered that he lay tell of all of this thing.

Writhingly, he told that the two maids had been taken to the granary barn hard by the Naigias, in the clutches of the Tur-anion Death Cabal; and there, stripped, and brutally raped by all who stood in leering throng about them. As they formed rank to pillage the maids, they jested that t'were better to plunder them as they were now; for soon enough, they would not raise one shred of lust in any who laid eyes upon them. When all were done, the maids were handed to the Tur-anion Death Cabal torturers.

They were both tortured together, so one might hear the screams of the other; this, perhaps, to loosen tongue as the question was put. Each was told what was about to happen to the other, in hope that this might force her to commit to whatever informations the torturers sought. The maids kept their counsel as each ensuing round of torture became much worse than the one before. At the first; the maids were horsewhipped; the lash of the leathern whips being studded with metal that tore at their flesh. They were then dragged below a sturdy rafter. The first maid's wrists were bound behind her back, and the rope was tossed over the beam. Great stones were lashed to her ankles. Then, she was hauled up, and was dropped from a height, again and again, so that her arm bones and shoulders were torn from their sockets.

As she hung there, a sharp iron fork was then used to mangle her breasts. The other maid was forced to watch all. Then, the first maid was cut down, and the second maid hoisted in manner, the same.

When the Tur-anion had tired of this sport, red-hot pincers were used to tear off their flesh. A device named the Turcas was used to tear out their finger and toenails. After the nails were ripped out, needles were stabbed into the bleeding quicks of their fingers and toes. Sharpened iron rods were used to beat them, tearing flesh and crushing bone. Thumbscrews were used to crush the fingers and toes. Their bleeding hands were plunged into pots of boiling oil and water.

There was no limit to the cruelty of the torturers. The tyrant Berenvag had decreed that any and all things were to be invoked that might bring this Partisan bitch; "Vagehal Hetenloske Mahok"… "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut" to her doom; and the Tur-anion Death Cabal torturers were brutally perverted and skilled.

At the last; when the maids could abide no more, they had laid false informations, which were palpably seen as falsehoods. It stood plain that nothing would be torn from these two bitches. For this affront, more torture was to follow. Before they were despatched, they were again flogged with metal-shod whips, until their bones shone white from out of their shredded backs.

They were burned, and branded with the cypher of the Tur-anion Death Cabal; the dreaded "Baes-Myr," so all those who beheld the remains of these ruined sluts might know what lay in wait for such as these. Then, they were heaved upon the Charnel cart to be conveyed to the Great Marsh of Rachlareth, there to be thrown therein like so much midden spoil.

Laurana spoke; her eyes dark with rage, and her voice tight with detestation,

'And what did you do to forfend your Algethi sisters?'

The half-blood grovelled pleadingly at her feet;

'What was there that I could do? They were many; I was, but the one.'

Laurana imagined what he had done. Standing there, watching the torture of their naked, and ripe young bodies. Standing there, beset with perverted lust; standing there, aroused and excited. For, as he laid out his tell, she saw, even above his terror; the bulging that stirred in his breeches and betrayed him complete as he recounted what he had seen. She might have let him live, had this bulging not spoken plain of his perversely aroused savour of remembrance of the shrieking agony of her sisters, that he embraced even now as he looked into the face of his doom.

She signalled to her escort as she stood aside. The half-blood made good his feet and turned to run as best he might, upon his ruined leg. He had accomplished perhaps, a pair of dragging strides, when there came a moaning whine; much like night wind in the treetops.

The half-blood shrieked as two soft-nosed quarrels struck him in the back, and his guts burst splatteringly out from his belly. He crumpled, flailing and shrieking, as his hands clawed at his belly where there was no belly; where there was naught, but a great, empty, reeking hole. His guts were sprayed about for some ten cubits all up the broad way before him. He gave one more bubbling, sucking shriek; for half of his shredded lungs lay in the dust before him, and then he was still.

Laurana stood over him. She reached to her belt, and drew forth her dagger. Then kneeling, she carved a letter "C" betokening Cirnelle, into his forehead. The cypher of "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut" was here laid to full view; to unnerve such vermin as would come upon him.

She called her escort out from their concealment, and climbed aboard the charnel cart. They would progress this sad lading back to Amberdrove by the secret pathways in the Forest of Aldreth. The maids would be laid to rest within the walls of Amberdrove. They were the first losses of the Partisan maids, and Laurana knew full well, it was as like, they would not be the last. But, she was resolved that, were there to be more; they would not embrace their doom in the manner that these two had so done.

At length, when they had returned to Amberdrove; the ruined bodies of the two maids were taken from the charnel cart, and borne away to be washed and laid out for their cairning. The maids at Amberdrove now saw before them, what would be their fate if captured as partisan. White-faced, they gazed upon their ruined sisters; one or two turned away, in retch. Tears tumbled cheeks, but a deadly, icy calm beset most of the maids. The Horanaurks would rue the day they so defiled their sisters.

In full disregard of Laurana's strategy, many of the maids now cast aside from their minds, the tactics of skirmish. Such a death as would be gifted by crossbow quarrel was too good for these vermin. They elected that they would now take the sword to these barbarian scum; all the better to see the look in their eyes as the vermin embraced their doom.

Laurana made a sturdy attempt to gainsay this choice; the Tur-anion Death Cabals were not those to be meddled with lightly. But the maids who now embraced this wild, and desperate purpose, bade her no heed at all.

Thus, were the "Lessien Meneldur" so birthed... "Lessien Meneldur" meaning "Daughters of Mayhem"... a name that would bring clawing fear to the Horanaurk, who, until now, had known no fear at all. These maids would, in time, become the Elite, deadly Assault Warriors out of Amberdrove.

To this end; Chantalas… the chosen Captain of this cadre, sought out from the great library of Amberdrove, a volume, which lay tell of all the herbs of the forest. She brought this volume to another maid, Daerwen, who chose to use her time as Dispenser; mixing salves and potions for the easement of all manner of hurts and woundings garnered by the maids. Chantalas charged her with two tasks.

Task…The First; was to prepare a compound that the maids would carry as they progressed their mayhems. It was to be easily concealed, yet close to hand. It needs must, be swift and deadly. This compound was for their own self-destruction, should they be misfortunate enough to be taken. For all the Daughters of Mayhem knew that they would be given over to the Tur-anion Death Cabal torturers and the question would be most sturdily and dreadfully put to them. Task… The Second; was to prepare a potion to fortify their prowess in slaughter... much in manner, much the same, as the Khuzud-Mahin of Khallis had their Dark drink.

Daerwen began her taskings. She read the great volume, page by page, noting all the deadly plants. Then, she began the gathering in the Forest of Aldreth. At length, she returned with a curious store of plants. She had gathered Mistletoe berries, leaves of the Wild Cherry; Jasmine berries, and Yew berries. There too, were leaves from the dreadful Hemlock. All of these, she put into a great pestle and mortared the sum to a paste. She poured a little water on the whole, and warmed the mixture. Whilst this was prevailing, there came a knocking upon the door of the Dispensary. Yara, the smithy maid entered, bearing a block of metal, wherein were scooped many shallow hollows. This, she had crafted to the instruction and design of Daerwen; who lay the block upon the table and smoothed the dooming mixture into the shallow hollows. The block was then emplaced in the oven, where bread had once been baked; for, in better times, this place had been Amberdrove's bakery.

Now, Daerwen turned to her second task. From another basket, she brought forth more plants. Here were Nightshade and Thorn apple; Fennel, Mandrake root, and the stems of Bindweed. Here too, was a greenish-brown, shiny leaf of which she knew not the name. T'was said this leaf brought relief from the ache of a rotted tooth, were it chewed... but, too much, and the chewer became agitated and fearless. All were placed into a fresh mortar, less the Bindweed. From their stems, was a milky sap squeezed into the whole, and the sum ground to a paste, as of the first. Then, the whole was mixed with water and wine, and boiled.

The great pot fumed and bubbled as all the parts slowly blended into the potion. All the while, Daerwen skimmed the scum from off the surface of the writhing liquid. In the span of some four Sundial shadows, all was complete. The pot held a pale russet liquid, which she ladled out into a stone jar, across the mouth of which was stretched a thin gauze of muslin… this to ensnare such scum and paste leavings as might remain.

As she toiled at this, she was beset with the strangest of feelings. The room was becoming brighter, with all manner of colours of the rainbow floating about. And there! A great butterfly that sat upon the table and began to commune with her! All manner of fantastical creatures were gathering about her, 'though she knew these could never be real. She felt most peculiar; she needs must seek the fresh air beyond the door! As she moved towards the doorway, Why!... the butterfly became a flower; the flower became a mouse, which grew wings and became a bat!

Now, she could not remember what fear was. She felt that she could fly 'an it were her wont. She could dance among the stars in the heavens. No! She must decry these imaginings.

She stumbled out of the Dispensary, and leaned against the door, breathing the fresh air greedily. Slowly, her thoughts cleared. Of course! T'was certain-sure that this peculiar reverie was upon her because she had been breathing the aroma of the potion. She needs must stay without the dispensary until her wits cleared.

She progressed the gardens and stooped to splash her face with water from the cool spring. Slowly her head cleared and her humour settled. This potion was far beyond her imagining in the humour it gifted. She needs must make careful measure of its effect. She would blend in water, little by little, until it met the requirement of Laurana. She needs must take specific tastes of this potion as it was weakened. There would be need for another maid to hold her in careful watch, as to such humour the potion might gift her at each tasting. The potion would indeed, meet the require of Laurana, but she needs must banish these fantastical visions and dreamings from it, if it was ever to be used to fortify the courage of the Daughters of Mayhem.

She walked the gardens for close on the span of a Sundial shadow before she felt it safe enough to return to the Dispensary. Cautiously, she entered therein. The smell of the potion lingered still, but now, it was ever so faint. What then, of the pellets of doom? She breached the clay shroud of the baking oven, and with a sturdy cloth, drew forth the metal block. There, in each of the scooped hollows lay a pellet, embracing the hue of a deeping autumn sunset... the soft, orangey-red of the saffron flower that bloomed in the forest in the early spring. She knocked out the block upon the table and the pellets sprang out from their metal nests. Each was close to the measure of her thumbnail. Each, t'was hoped, would gift a swift release to the one who so chose to take of it.

The pellets would need to be put to the test; but how was this to be accomplished? She could not prevail upon any of her sister partisans to this end. But then... this was not for her to decide; this was now, the conundrum of Laurana.

She stood council with Laurana on this matter. The dooming pellets would be held safe until the partisans took another half-blood; for they would, as like, not gift doom to a Horanaurk, and besides; Horanaurks were consummately vexsome to take unspoiled. There were always half-bloods creeping and lurking about; the maids would be instructed to be vigilant and take one who was, but thinly spoiled. Then, they would see.

As for the potion, Daerwen was forbidden to prevail alone in the meld of weakening, and specific tasting of the same. The maids would be petitioned as to which would stand forward to share in the tasting as this endeavour of weakening the potion was prosecuted. With the question being put, ten maids stood forwards to aid to Daerwen as she thinned the potion. The first measure of spring water, being two sesters in sum; was melded into the great stone jar and the first maid took of it. Within a small span of time, she began to see all manner of fantastical things, in manner the same as Daerwen had done.

One more measure of two sesters of spring water was added, and the second maid took of the meld. She too began to vision all manner of curious things. So it continued sester by sester; measure by measure, as each maid took of the potion, until at length, the ninth maid saw nothing. She felt more alive than ever she had; she had abandoned all sense of fear, and she stood beset with a bold and arrogant demeanour. Her aggression shone brightly in her eyes as she cast gaze about, seeking out someone whom she might fight.

Gently, she was taken to her quarters, where she might be safely watched until her truculent humour faded. Now, they needs must measure how much of this potion was the require. The tenth maid took of it, a thimbleful at a time. At the fifth thimble, she embraced the naked aggression of the other. So, that was the sum of it. All that need now be done was to take measure of the sum of thimbles, and to craft a vessel of measure the same, so all might take of the same. When this was done, the potion draught stood at one eighth of a sester in measure.

The Smithy maid, Yara, was prevailed upon to craft a beaker specific that held the sum of the draught. It need be crafted with care, so that the draught would always be the same... no more and no less. Yara laid her thoughts to this issue. She could craft a common beaker and then, pare away at its lip, until it embraced the measure specific. But if that were the score, how then, to make certain sure that none might be spilled, thus denying the full draught? She pondered this at length. There was conundrum; though, if the choice was to be a beaker; it would need to be small... very small; and thus... simple to mislay. A beaker, in truth, would not prevail.

She pondered anew. Why not, then, a flask? But how to apportion like measure to all? Why not a slender tube with long handle attached, that would be kept within the flask? The tube could be crafted from some sheet of honourable metal, such as gold or silver... perhaps, cut from some platter. The seam could prevail with simple folding and hammer. It could be closed at the nether end by crafting it to take the shape of, say... a pine cone. It need not stand full sturdy in containment; all it needed to accomplish would be to carry the measure of potion from flask mouth to any common beaker lip. Thus, each of the ride might stand in receipt of like measure.

She laid this before Laurana, who progressed to a great chest and brought therefrom, a platter of plain design, and a flask; being both crafted in Gold. The flask was that, which her mother, the Astalan Queen, had used to hold sweetly perfumed oils for her bathing. It was firm-stoppered with a curious material, which was called cork. This cork, being sturdy, yet soft; was taken from the bark of a tree that grew far away to the east. It firmly closed the mouth of the flask and denied spillage of the precious oils that it had once contained. Yara took these two things to her forge and began her craftings. Delicately, she toiled with shears and file, with hammer and planish, until all was complete.

Meantime; in distant Luxtan; the companions, in company with Segartis made ready to ride to the east. Segartis would lead them to the borders of Seuna. They would ride the deep greening of the Great Forest of Cuthalion that bordered the wastelands of Sennragen... the Horanaurk training grounds. Here, there would be no intercept; these were the far distant reaches of the Thrall-holdings of the tyrant Berenvag. Now, they could abandon their disguise. No Horanaurk strayed here, other than to the training wastes; for here, the warrior maids of Seuna hunted them for sport. The young Sanya would remain with Justalyn, in whose charge she was safe.

They rode out of Luxtan in the bright of the early morning. It would be ten, and five leagues through the Forest of Cuthalion until they came upon the borders of Seuna. They would ride with Segartis to the Stronghold of Ardenrhyne, there, to lay their petition for alliance before the Council of the warrior maidens.

Eldamar held sturdy doubt of prevailing in the matter of this supposed Council of Alliance. The warrior maidens of Seuna were wild and pagan. They held no shred of concern for matters of The Light; but then, 'nor did they hold any shred of concern for matters of The Darkness, beyond the slaughter of such Darklings that came to their hands. Perhaps, this accord that had blossomed betwixt Segartis and Trethan might stand advantage; this was indeed, slender in the hoping, but it was all that there was. They needs must wait, and see.

The ride through The Forest of Cuthalion was lacking in sum of issue. T'was a pleasing journey after that, which the companions had endured as they crossed Astalan. Here, was no unceasing gaze to the skies in watch for Kaaroks; here was no sweaty, armoured subterfuge. The deep greening was cool and peaceful. The only sound was that of bird-song… a thing that they had not heard since broaching the border of Astalan. This quietude lulled their watchfulness, for suddenly… they were held in surround by warrior maidens, with swords naked and drawn.

Segartis laughed,

'Well held, my sisters! Now, sheath blade; these are not our prey. These are to be our consociates in a device to topple the barbarian Berenvag.'

Eldamar saw in the eyes of the Warrior maidens a consummate distrust, and open disapproval of the accord betwixt Segartis and Trethan that stood plain for all to see. This Council would be, on the face of it; inimical; and t'was, as like; difficult to settle resolve upon the matter at hand. He sighed; another hindrance to the quest, and one, if told truthful, he held in singular disrelish. T'would be much to expect of these wild and pagan maids... this differentness to their very creed. That they should accept males into their society was asking much. That such males would assume positions of influence was, perhaps, asking too much.

Segartis, though, held no such ponder. She was secure in her position as Throng Mistress to the warrior maidens of Seuna. If she elected that this would stand well, then so would it stand. There would be no threat or inducement. If Segartis wished it so, then it would be so. And perhaps, t'was time to cast away the male slavery and covert forest couplings. Perhaps, t'was time to cast away the solitary female society, and choose males as bond-mates. The Council would decide upon all these things.

The remainder of the ride to the borders of Seuna was made in portentous silence. The company of warrior maidens gifted Eldamar, Trethan, and Kerrin menacing and disparaging stares; the like of which did not bode well for this Council. Their gaze in this manner became more blatant as they passed into the Realm of Seuna; past the rotting carcasses of the Horanaurks bedecking the linked stakes all about the borderlands. Was this a covert threat?... Or, no more than a subtle ruse to unnerve them? Whichever it might be, t'was most unsettling.

The Stronghold of Ardenrhyne lay some eight leagues beyond the border. As they passed through a pair of settlements, the way was lined with maids who murmured and pointed. Kerrin garnered most of the stares and whispers; and no wonder there; for he was tall, and young, and handsome... as had been his father before him. He would make a most acceptable slave. Eldamar and Trethan rode bemused by this. For Kerrin had small knowing of the wiles of women, and rode with a crimson blush; which only made the watching maids more heedful of his presence. T'was as well they rode with Segartis, for there was little doubt Kerrin would have been taken into thrall long before Ardenrhyne was accomplished.

Onwards they rode until, before them rose a knoll of sandstone shouldering up out of the fertile pastures, some two leagues distant. Upon the knoll was a Great Red Fortress. It stood, as if grown up out of the very sandstone it sat upon. The Stronghold of Ardenrhyne stood three sided; having a great round tower at each corner. Betwixt the towers, there rose great sheer walls; some, being part of square towers of subordinate height to the three round ones. Each of these square towers was a Citadel in its own right. Thus, the compass of the great walls formed a chain of Citadels. The whole rose sheer, to close on three-hundred and thirty- cubits in standing.

The Stronghold of Ardenrhyne was such that it might never be breached. There was, but the one approach; a steep and winding, flagged pathway that led up to a mighty gate-tower. The walls oversaw the whole. There could be no incursion here that would not bear the most stern of impositions. It might never fall to siege; for Segartis told that within, there were vast storehouses and granaries; there was a deep, and unpollutable well. Within, there would be shelter for some ten thousand, and victuals to sustain them all. There too, was a great beacon tower. This would shine forth alarm from high place to high place. With such alarm raised, then the warrior maidens would muster all across the Realm, and ride to raise such siege as might there be emplaced.

Eldamar gazed in awe at this place, as did the other companions. He had seen many Fortresses, but this was the most imposing of them all. It was small wonder that the Horanaurks held no stomach to try their hand at mayhems in this place. Such that they might bring to bear would be as trifling as a single flea upon a wolf-hound.

Entering the Stronghold of Ardenrhyne, they rode through the cobbled streets, with Starshadow's leissor-shod hooves striking bright sparks in his passing, as they progressed to The Citadel. Such warrior maidens as stood aside as they progressed their gallop gazed in amazement at the mighty Starshadow; for, never had they seen a Unicorn. Yet, even in their amaze; Eldamar saw the stand of hostile suspicion in their eyes.

All up through the narrow winding streets they rode; their clatter of gallop echoing the high sandstone walls and buttresses... the sound of which brought forth more warrior maidens who watched their passing from windows and doorways; each and all, beset with like countenance of hostile disdain. Eldamar was much troubled by this. What was the reason for this palpable hostility? To his customs, this was most singularly unnatural, and passing strange. It did not bode well for this Council of Alliance. He elected to lay the question naked before Segartis at Council. He would lay sturdy delve and prospect of this thing, and perhaps, in this; reveal the truth of it.

Later, that day, the Council gathered in the Great Hall of the Citadel. The comrades sat facing twelve warrior maidens of eminent standing in Seuna. Segartis sat at head of table. Again, the shadow of faint-cloaked animosity prowled all about the Great Hall. Eldamar spoke,

'Before we debate this issue, might I ask of the cause whereby such disparaging of males is held in this Realm? This knowing may well ease such debate as we make here, by gifting us forewarning of issues that might be deemed tactless and demeaning.'

With this; one of the warrior maidens... a slender, blonde-haired maid with pale, grey eyes, hard with anger; scraped back her chair and made good her feet. Her voice was icy with contempt,

'How dare this mere male bandy question of this matter in this place? This is 'naught but an affront to our Culture.'

Artanis stood; leaning forward across the table; her demeanour threatening, her green eyes hard and dangerous. She spoke... her voice, softly ominous,

'You would do well to guard your tongue, wench. This is Eldamar; The Lord Guardian of The Light, from out of the West. You would be further, well counselled to hold him in the respect that his standing demands.'

The warrior maiden snorted her disdain.

'Why then, should I heed your words, Algethi-wench? For you are doubtless, his quean; and thus, tendentious in this matter.'

Artanis's hand was now upon the hilt of her sword. Segartis saw that if, but one more aside of this nature were cast; then her warrior maiden would as likely, be less the sum of one head for her insolence. She spoke; her voice sharp as a blade.

'Ginessa… Stand down! This is Council, not a tavern brawl. Let us lay our swords apart from this table as a reveal of concord in this matter.'

The companions stood, and unsheathed their blades, laying them against the wall behind them. The warrior maidens gave mutter, but then, stood and did the same. Segartis then laid before Eldamar the tell of Seuna.

In the far, and distant past, the forebears of the Realm of Seuna were a race of beings called by name: "Qualinan". They were tall, sleek figures; usually ranging from three, and one-half cubits, to a little below four cubits in standing. Their hair was the silky blue-blackness of a raven's wing, and their eyes held deep hues of green, blue, lavender, and purple. Their hands possessed three flexible fingers and an opposing thumb, whilst their feet had flexible toes and heel. Often, other races found the Qualinan to be mysterious and aloof. They were a peaceful race until slighted; attempting to give others fair requittal, albeit, they were singularly wary of Darklings.

Born in the Shadow Realms of Tharnul, to the east; the Qualinan fled the Shadow-rift forests to escape the annihilation of their entire race in what became known as "The Sundering"… a series of violent, turbulent, and extremely destructive Wars that raged across the far eastern lands for many seasons. Their attackers were beings from the far south, called "Yarai"; a Tarak breed, who were merciless and brutal. With no more than a few thousand of their race remaining, the Qualinan settled in the deep caverns beneath the Mountains of The Shadowed Moon, to slowly rekindle their race; hidden away from all, and thus, keeping their race secret.

After fourteen-hundred summers of peaceful regrowth, they made the great wander, led by an Elder of exalted rank, who held name: Seunandil; and settled in the lands that were to become The Realm of Seuna.

Seuna was a society like any other. All were Qualinan; and held Bond like any other... male to female; living in harmony and accord... until the day that The "Shierans" came from out of the east. These Shierans were warlike and dominant barbarians. They were sturdy and tall; in the main, holding above four cubits. They were not wholly evil, but they were brutish. Soon enough, they held sway in the Realm. As such, they took any female that held their fancy. Any male bond-mate, who decried, was killed; as were sons who tried to protect mother or sister.

This assassination of the Qualinan culture continued for generation upon generation, until there were few full-blood Qualinan males remaining. As half-blood begets half-blood; in the Qualinans, the three-fingered hands and flexible toes and heels of the feet were slowly vanquished. Eventually, the only ones left in the Realm, both male and female, were of sturdy Shieran blood-line. The women of Seuna were treated with contempt. None were permitted to hold land or embrace any standing in their settlements. They were chattel slaves, fit only for the homesteading toil… or the bedchamber. If they demurred, or held the merest spark of resistance, they were cruelly punished; sometimes, even killed.

Segartis spread her hands forth on the table; saying...

'So this continued from one summer to the next; 'till there arose a female who cried "Enough!" This was Chaeli, my great-great grand-dam. She rallied the downtrodden females and unleashed The Great Punitive War, where bloody Patricide and Fratricide stalked the land as the women of Seuna rid themselves of their oppressors. This lasted some eighteen summers, until each and every male in the Realm was killed, enslaved, or banished. Then, the victorious females laid covenant that no males would be again permitted to live amongst them. They would mate, as was needed; by incursing neighbouring Kingdoms and abducting males for the purpose.

It might be, that if the Horanaurk tyrant Berenvag were destroyed, and the Kingdom of Astalan was freed; then bond-worthy accord might one day, flourish again in Seuna. But that cannot be for now. For now, there is yet a mighty Host of warrior maidens who are resolved to ensure that never again, will the females of Seuna be thralled as subordinates to male arrogance. And; therein lies our conundrum.'

The remain of the day was spent in ill-humoured debate on the question of Alliance. The stand taken by the warrior maiden Council was that there was no advantage in this endeavour for Seuna. The tyrant Berenvag would not incurse the borders, and besides, it was fair sport hunting down Horanaurks so foolish as to stray into Seuna. At the last, the Council turned its face from the Companions. It was not their problem, and that was an end to it.

Segartis had hoped for better, but there was no more could be done. In her reveal, Eldamar saw that Segartis was for The Light, in spite of the knowing that Seuna warrior maidens held no such alliance. She acted as a person was expected and required to act. He saw now, that she held in meld a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly.

She lay forth truth, held bond in her words; gifted aid to those in need, and spoke out against injustice. She would not countenance the guilty to go unpunished. She fought evil without mercy, and protected the innocents without hesitation. In truth, in any other time, and in any other place, Segartis should have been a Guardian of The Light.

Eldamar saw here, a true ally... no matter what her Council had decided. She said the companions should rest in the Citadel that night, and on the morrow, she would journey back to Luxtan with them. Eldamar elected that he must ride onwards in seek of Rhonas-Mhoir. Artanis would ride with him. The companions would return to Luxtan. Segartis told that she would escort them back, and that Eldamar and Artanis should ride to southerly-west from The Stronghold of Ardenrhyne to the border of Seuna. Then, t'was, but a few leagues to the south before they came to The Shire of Ardaltun.

She would provide them with Letters of Conveyance for safe passage, so that none might mire their progress. This was so done; the letters were affixed with the Great Seal of The Throng Mistress of Seuna, so that none might dispute them.

Far to the west, The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark" had not been idle. Knowing that for now, this vexsome Lord Guardian of The Light was beyond the reach of his Dominion, he elected to vent his spite upon a more vulnerable quarry. If he could not breach the Guardian, then he would breach the Guardian's Issue. Then, there would be no more to follow this defiant Algethi. He knew that Issue, the first... being Tristan and Marcus; were not to be meddled with lightly; but the Guardian's new bond-mate was with child. She would be easy pickings. The others could wait until the time stood fair for their destruction.

To accomplish this; he sent out five Shadow-Wraiths from the Abyss. Their charge was simple. Destroy the Algethi-wench and her unborn infant. They would be found at the far reaches of the Shining Lands, in that place called The Halls of The Guardian. The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," knew all things. He knew she would be alone; he knew she would be defenceless.

Arlanna sat on the terrace of The Halls of Eldamar, and watched the sun sinking gently into the west, painting the peaks of the grey, flinty mountains all crimson and gold. Her hand strayed to stroke her belly, now rounding gently. It was high summer, and in regard of the sturdiness of the Infant's kick; he would be birthed as came the golden tumble of the leaves.

She cast a sad gaze into the east; the moon was rising in silver sliver above Astalan, and the first stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening indigo of twilight. She yearned for Eldamar to be here, but he was far away. She wondered if he was looking at that slender moon tonight. She gave a fleet, and wistful smile. No matter; Gwythlyn would be soon returning. Then, there would be company.

Gwythlyn had ridden out that morning to The Great Crystal Castle, beset by the Cornflower-Blue Mere to commune with Chelaine, concerning the sickness of the morning that ever beset Arlanna, and elicit what potion would settle the same. Arlanna gazed again to east and smiled; silently wishing Eldamar fair speed on his quest. She hoped he would return before her time was fully upon her. A little later, she heard the chink of harness and the soft thrum of horses' hooves. This would be Gwythlyn in return.

She stepped to the door to welcome her home. But it was not Gwythlyn; t'was a band of five horsemen who stood down from their mounts, asking if these were the Halls of Eldamar. They held countenance of kindly grey-beards, proffering effusive regrets for prevailing upon her at this time. They told that they were Burghers from out of Elisriendell, come seeking audience with Eldamar.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Arlanna asked of their business. They replied that they sought informations from Eldamar, or perhaps, his Forge-master Elshore; concerning where, in the Singing Woods of Lothluthil, they might avail themselves of the rare Corbis wood. They had need of this for charcoal; for there was a master forging to be effected in Elisriendell. Eldamar had told the tale of the Corbis wood forging of the Swords of The Light to Arlanna; and thus, in the tell of the Burghers, was no suspicion laid.

Arlanna told that Elshore was now in Calverstock, and Eldamar was not here. She bade them enter; to take of their ease and refreshment, as was custom of hospitality in the Shining Lands. As she turned to the door, she did not see the triumphant smirking that beset their countenances. For these were not Burghers; these were the Shadow-Wraiths; covert-cloaked, and deadly. To this end, the Shadow-Wraiths had crept about the Halls of Eldamar seeking out Arlanna's household retainers whilst she reposed on the terrace watching the sunset.

In this endeavour they had held their true form; being seen only as nebulous shadows. One by the one, the retainers had been quietly despatched, and their Charas consumed so that the Shadow-Wraiths might hold fleshy form and substance until they had destroyed this Algethi-wench and the Infant that she carried, in accord with their Master's command.

When they were certain-sure that she was quite alone, they had manifested as the Burghers. This would gift the wench no great suspicion when she perceived five kindly, and apologetic grey-beards without her Hall. She would invite them in, in keeping with this foolish hospitality that the Algethi heeded to. Then they could dispose of her swiftly, and return to their Master, to be embraced in his benevolence for their cunning endeavour.

They entered the Hall in convivial accord. She invited them to sit at table, and brought wine for their refreshment. She sensed no danger in this accord. In turning to fetch bread for them, she began to speak,

'The Lord Eldamar is far away at this time; He quests to the east, in Astal…'

She spoke no further. Three had risen swiftly and silently from the table. Two seized upon, and pinioned her before she might struggle; the third reached about her and swiftly slashed her throat open. As he did so, the Shadow-Wraith pinioning her leftmost arm drove his dreadful, black Karuk dagger into her back, up betwixt her ribs; piercing through her heart in a moment. She was dead before the floor embraced her. Another loomed above her and thrust the vicious black blade of his Karuk dagger down into her belly, destroying such chance of life that the infant she carried, might yet, possess.

For those, not knowing of the Karuk blades; they are not the same as common blades. They are formed out of pure, evil thought. They hold no true substance, 'less they be wielded by those of The Darkness, but they are no less deadly than any true sword or dagger. Should the one who is armed with such a weapon be destroyed; then the weapon also ceases to exist. Such blades are from the Abyss, and are to be much feared; for they will destroy any who are so pierced... no matter how trifling such piercing might seem.

Crowing shrilly in their mirth, the cloaked Wraiths then fired the Hall about her. Their Master would be well pleased. As the flames rose, they insinuated themselves without, into the lowering darkness. They gathered in gloating as the two who had effected the killing began to uncloak. The effort of pinioning the wench had dwindled the cloaking power that they had garnered from the pillaged Charas in greater sum than the others, who held still their fleshy form.

Suddenly, there came the whistle of blade cleaving the soft, night air. The two uncloaking Shadow-Wraiths fell, as the shimmering blade clove them in twain; their forms writhing into vapoury tendrils that burgeoned into a stinking billow that clung to the night air. The others, swift turning to see; were faced with Gwythlyn, High Duchess of Shandalar... The Wraith-Hunter maid out of Yeranoor.

Her Great Sword, Gurthelkaa… also called "Icing Death," shrieked and shimmered about them, hacking into their still-fleshy carcasses. She had been riding in return from The Great Crystal Castle on The Cornflower-Blue Mere, and was, but half a league distant when she saw the first bloom of flame from the Halls of Eldamar flare bright in the gathering twilight.

She had spurred mount, and wildly galloped on, unsheathing Gurthelkaa; for she held dreadful presentiment of what she would find. She saw the flitting shadows; she heard the bone-chilling smirk and giggle, and then, she was upon them. Gwythlyn, High Duchess of Shandalar; The Wraith-Hunter maid out of Yeranoor, was most consummately gifted in the matter of slaughtering Wraiths, and none would escape this evil deed done this night.

The Three Wraiths in remain, had not the slightest span of chance to transform to their shadowed form. They were still flesh and blood; flesh that was now slashed and hacked, and black blood that gouted and sprayed about. The three soon lay shredded and destroyed at her feet, where they slowly and stinkingly dwindled to a cloying mist that crept about the grasses and faded into nothingness. Dropping her sword; Gwythlyn ran to the burning Hall and plunged into the inferno. She dragged the lifeless body of Arlanna onto the terrace. She saw, with horror in her eyes, the slashed throat… the piercing wound to her back, and the great stabbing wound to Arlanna's belly.

With tears tumbling her cheeks, she cradled Arlanna in her arms... and, these vermin chose to kill the child as well. A dreadful anger clutched itself about Gwythlyn at the loathsomeness of this wanton destruction of mother and child... this sickening slaughter of innocents. She carried Arlanna to the stable and laid her gently in the sweet-smelling hay. Swiftly locking the stable door behind her, her face drawn and impassive; tight-lipped, with her rage wrapping about her like a cloak; she mounted her horse and rode wildly into the night.

She rode for Elisriendell. She knew not what she might do; she knew not where she might do it. All she knew was this: these creatures were Shadow-Wraiths, and they came from, but one place… The Abyss. Where then, was the Abyss? Where might she revenge herself upon this creature Baelar? T'was, as like chasing the end of a rainbow. Where might she start? There was but one who might know… Torbair of Aiuthal, famed Goldsmith of Elisriendell... he who had enchanted the Guardian Swords. If any knew where The Abyss lay, it would be Torbair.

She galloped the night in reckless abandon over the evil, and precarious road wending through the deep greening Forests of Elisriendell. She rode by the pale light of a cloud-flitting, slivered moon and a few cold stars. Her thunder of gallop echoed the greening. Her tear-tumble dried upon her face in the whipping wind of her passing, even as the tears coursed her cheeks. By the soft light of dawning, she accomplished the Old Mill where Torbair of Aiuthal dwelt. As she clattered into the mill-yard, Torbair came forth from out his workshop. Torbair was an early riser. He regarded the wind-blown and tear-stained Gwythlyn; he saw the sweated foam all steamingly flecking her mount. He ran to her, his concern standing plain upon his face. He cried,

'Why, child; what has come to pass? What is amiss, that you should ride as though The Lord of The Underdark is at your heels?'

Gwythlyn laid the tell. Her words tumbled upon themselves; her tears still coursing her cheeks. Torbair laid his arm about her shoulders and walked her to the Old Mill, though t'was hard-pressing for her to accomplish even this slim distance of step. Her legs gave tremble, but he held her firm.

Within the Old Mill, he gave to her a calming beverage of herbs which he had steeped in boiling water. She drank of it. Pulling a face, she asked what was in this displeasing brew. He replied it was a melding of borage, of lavender, and red clover. It might not have a pleasing taste, but it was singularly efficacious for calming the humour; and he could see she was ensnared by a sturdy distress. Needs-must, this distress be held firm-fettered, 'else she might embrace the calamitous humour the 'pothicks called "Shock." This was more usually manifest in battle woundings, but such disposition as she now held, might gift her the same. This must be denied, for it was a perilous affliction.

Torbair gently told what he knew of this. What it meant was; that the blood became diminished in its thrust as it coursed through her body. With this, certain parts of her body would become drowsy. She would become cold and pallid; her skin would become clammy... as if she raged with ague. She would faint away, and if left without aid; would likely embrace the torpor of the living death where none might reach her, and she might reach none. She might even perish. So, she should drink of the drink, to calm this humour. Then, she should tell him of what had come to passing.

As Gwythlyn slowly calmed, Torbair gently coaxed her tale from out her. She told of the dreadful happenings at the Halls of Eldamar; she told of the awful fate of Arlanna and her unborn infant. She told of her resolve to prosecute her revenge. Did he know where she might find this foul place, this Abyss? Torbair hearkened to her tell; his face pale and drawn in the telling. When she had done, he was silent for some sturdy span of time in passing. At last, he spoke.

'Heed me, child; there is little that can be done in this resolve that you clutch about yourself. The Abyss is not a place where you might enter into... like some wood or valley. The Abyss, or, as it is sometimes called, the Dread Depths of the Abyss, is not of our World. It is a part of The Great Dreaming of Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." It is the opined Dark Realm of The Dread, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark." It is written in "The Scrolls of the Beginnings," called too, "The Great Dream of Creation;" that in Her Dreaming, Elaiana came to know Herself only by gazing at Her image in the Pool of Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island; and the image of Herself was the Other of Herself.

This Other, as it became real; was "Esh-Elaiana," and was also called Baelar, "The Lord of The Underdark." Every existing thing, every living creature, every idea is influenced and affected by the Great Darkness, and cannot escape these bounds in the existing world.'

Gwythlyn hearkened to the counsel of Torbair. She knew some small part of this, but elected that he continue, for there might be some clue he would lay, in spite of his forewarning that her revenging could not prevail. Torbair saw this thought pass fleet, in her eyes, but chose not to give issue. His tell was calming her, and so, he would pursue the tell.

He told that, in the beginning; in her Great Dream of Creation, Elaiana imagined some part of the lands that were formed out of Chaos, was a world that was lush and green, and beautiful. She dreamed of vessels that would one day hold the spirit of the first life to set foot upon this world... The Race of beings known as "Shah'Algethi."

She crafted these vessels with thoughtfulness and care, and gave them extraordinary beauty. Her Other Self… Baelar, grew black with jealousy, and thirsted to imitate Elaiana. Baelar hastily fashioned his own vessels; resolved to best those created by Elaiana. But he would not squander the time needed to create such a Race, and so the sum of his meddle was flawed. This did not concern him at all. His creations were nothing like those crafted by Elaiana. Most were the malformed and crude creatures that would one day haunt the dreams of all Algethi.

When Baelar saw the creations of Elaiana; these beautiful beings called Shah'Algethi, his black jealousy began to consume him. For the first time; the desire to destroy Elaiana and her Great Dream, and thus… Himself; casting all back to Chaos, became an obsession. At his malefic behest; from the Abyss, creepingly came the Baelar'enin; the ancient spirits who served Baelar; ever seeking to turn back to Evil, The Great Dream of Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," thus, plunging all back into Chaos once more, with such Order that stood, ever then, smote down into the Darkness. But then, the creations of Elaiana; these beautiful beings called Shah'Algethi, had risen; confounding The Baelar'enin, and thrusting them back to the Deep Abyss, where Baelar, in his raging, elected to heap a terrible, Dread Avengement upon them... they who would dare, his Great Plan to undo… his dreadful "Sath-Ninduru," that he would lay forth; The dread, creeping "Night of the Shadows Rising." So, he smote them down with The Underdark Sorcery.

They were plucked, each and all, from out The Dream of Elaiana, and fully shorn of her Grace. But, in this shearing, he unleashed in the Shah'Algethi, a smouldering heat of rage. A mighty battle began. This was the first bloody engagement of what would become known as "The Eternal Watchtower." How long it would rage over the pristine fields of the Dream-World of Elaiana was not for the knowing; but it continues to this day. The Forces of The Light are ever vigilant against the evil intrigues of The Forces of The Darkness.

Gwythlyn had listened to this tell, and, as Torbair had hoped, was now beset by a calmer demeanour. She began to understand the nature of such things, and seemed to embrace acceptance that there was nothing that could be done to prosecute revenge. Torbair chose to grasp his advantage. He spoke,

'So, you see, child; all these things that have come to passing are woven into the Great Dream of Elaiana. Perhaps, this infant was not meant to be. Further... consider this: You are a warrior, as I was once, a warrior. Those such as we are rarely gifted the privilege of a swift, clean death. The Lady Arlanna was also a warrior. Her despatch was swift and clean, and for that, we should give thanks.'

Gwythlyn glared at him... then she did not; for she saw that Torbair gave wise and compassionate counsel. Of course, he spoke the truthing. Arlanna's end was indeed swift. It might be that all she felt was the icy kiss of the blade as it sundered her throat. Gwythlyn shivered.

Torbair said she should tarry at the Old Mill that night. She had 'nigh killed her horse in her reckless, abandoned ride, and he would ride in her company back to the Halls of Eldamar, to progress the laying out and cairning of Arlanna. Now, she should rest, whilst he sent word to raise a troop of Elisriendell Militia to ride sentinel to their passage through the deep greening forests of Elisriendell as they progressed east.

There was no knowing if more Shadow-Wraiths were prowling; for five was a curious number for Baelar to send forth. Meantime, he would prepare the herb and blossom sprinkle for the cairning; for the manner of Arlanna's dying… the perishing at the hands of Shadow-Wraiths needed special cantations. He gifted no more on this matter... but, what he had not said, was this:

If an Algethi should perish at the hands of a Darkling Wraith... and there were none darker than Shadow-Wraiths; then specific prudence need be embraced when such an Algethi was cairned. The perished Algethi's Charas would not rise to Carmanthyr until these specific cantations were spoken, and these herbs and blossoms be spread into the cairn. Were this not to be done in the prescribed manner, then the danger was, that the perished Algethi would become a "Shadow" of the Algethi dead. If this befell Arlanna she would wander the Dying Realms until the world ended; and never find her way home to Carmanthyr… The Tranquil Island.

In the morning, Torbair and Gwythlyn rode out of the Old Mill and met with the troop of Elisriendell Militia who would watch over their journey into the east. They rode the deep greening Forest of Elisriendell without issue, and at length came upon The Halls of Eldamar. The Great Hall smouldered still; all that remained standing were three of the walls. In the retainers' quarters, they came upon the bodies. All had been despatched by having their Charas torn out of their chests. Whilst the Militia troopers were gathering them together, Gwythlyn and Torbair made swiftly for the stable wherein Arlanna's body lay.

Gwythlyn pulled open the door, stepping within; then she stopped sharply, her eyes wide. Arlanna lay there, just as Gwythlyn had laid her gently in the sweet-smelling hay. But above her cold body there floated a soft Golden Orb, in company with another, which was tiny... The Charas of Arlanna and her unborn infant. The stable was sturdy-built, with roofing tiles of stone. There had been no means by how the Charas might rise out to Carmanthyr in that night since passed.

Torbair stood, his mouth open, and his eyes wide. Slowly, a wild, and fanciful notion crept into his thoughts. Might it be, that the Enchantment of Regress… The "Entul-Nolatari" could prevail in this place?

The "Entul-Nolatari" was of the Highest Order of The Old Moon-Magick from out of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil. It could only be used only when an Algethi had perished before the time that they were given had run its full measure; by reason that such span as they were gifted, had been wilfully snatched from them by Minions of The Darkness... as like, in happenings such as had manifested here. The "Entul-Nolatari" could be invoked by none, save a Craftmaster of Algethi High Moon-Magick... One, of whom, t'was whispered in awe, by those whom he passed by: "He is "Kurwa'Tur-selu En'Ithil'Algethi."

Torbair of Aiuthal, famed Goldsmith of Elisriendell, was such a Craftmaster Enchanter. There were, but three that were known in the whole of Amriath and The Western Lands. Torbair chose not to make issue of his exalted standing; he chose to craft his gold and his gems, and on occasion; enchant swords. But now, here lay the Bond-mate of his closest friend from ages, long distant and passed. Here too, was a thing, close, beyond belief. The Charas yet lingered; entrapped as they had been by the sturdy stone stable. They should have long since risen to Carmanthyr, but they had not. Such an Enchantment, perhaps, might not prevail... but, he needs must try.

Bidding Gwythlyn to say and do nothing; Torbair stood before the cold and lifeless body of Arlanna; and raising his hands above her, intoned in the Ancient tongue of the Singing Woods of Lothluthil, The "Entul-Nolatari" thus…

'Tysti byrn Pandraes i'me'a

Thys or si Peil Vear sar tol,

Caes si verol os mestaethar,

si tyr mys os hwesta mol.

O'eisi caer mari Ail Paestol;

byrn, os sosti, vaedst mar shi.

Eileolali tar byr sai o-

byr sor pae; tysti mai ti!'

This Enchantment... of The Highest Moon-Magick, and so rarely used; was spoken in the pure tongue of The Moon-Elves; this tongue being called "Orosta'Sathul." The root of this tongue was Charybon Runic... the Ancient Algethi High Tongue; but was melded with words gathered from distant travels or studies from other languages. It was a tongue so rarely heard in the lands, these days; that t'was thought to have well 'nigh died out. In the Common Tongue, the intonement was this:

"Come now, Daughter of The Light

from out the Dying Realms that cling,

Hear the rustling leaves of summer,

feel the cool, soft breezes sing.

You are held safe in The Dreaming;

Now, your time, redeemed shall be.

Sathulinan calls not, to you -

not this day; so come to me!"

As he spoke, so the Charas moved closer. He took from his pouch a small golden flask, crafted in the image of the Lothluthil Rowan leaf... this being the symbol of Elaiana, "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." He gently opened the same, and poured the sum of its content into the palm of his hand. He told Gwythlyn to divest Arlanna of her garments. Gwythlyn hesitated… Torbair spoke again; she was to do this thing.

With her dagger, Gwythlyn slit the gown from off Arlanna, laying to view the ugly gash in her belly, where the Shadow-Wraith had plunged his dreadful black Karuk sword. He moved to Arlanna, and laid upon the terrible gaping wound across her throat, a yellow liquid, all clinging, like as if, t'were un-set honey. Then he spread the same all about the dreadful rent in her belly. He gently turned her about, and anointed the deep stabbing wound in her back. Turning her about again, he took the last of the yellow liquid and gently spread it upon her lips. Then, he stood back, closed the flask, and intoned in Great voice,

'Kaer'Atara, Karn ta Mai!'

Which, in the Common Tongue, was this:

'Great Mother, Make It So!'

As Gwythlyn watched; her eyes wide with disbelief, The Charas began to move. At the first; the tiny Charas, seeming timidly, slowly parted from the larger, and moved towards Arlanna's lifeless form. Softly, it lowered, and, touching her lips, slowly vanished. The larger Charas then moved towards her. As it came close to Torbair, it moved towards him; floating before his gaze for a moment or two. Then, it moved to Arlanna, touched her lips; then, it too, vanished, and a soft, golden glow slowly wreathed about Arlanna.

Gwythlyn stared, as if mesmerised… See! Arlanna's bosom began to rise and fall; she was breathing! Gwythlyn stared, voice-struck, at Torbair, who gently smiled. The Old Moon-Magick still held, when it came to Matters of The Light.

As they watched, Arlanna began to gather colour to her deathly-pale countenance. The purpling stain of death began to fade from her cheek-bones. Her breathing was stronger; the great rents in her belly and throat were fading… What was this thing? Torbair smiled anew. The yellow liquid he had anointed upon Arlanna was Oil of Alfirin... so rare as to be thought, but whisper and dream. Indeed, the score of the sum of quantity he had used here would, as like, purchase victuals enough to feed The City of Rhom for close on half-a-summer. Common Tincture of Alfirin was to be had in copious amount; but Oil of Alfirin… that were a differentness. For every sester of Tincture, there was at most, one drop of Oil of Alfirin to be had. The flask he had used contained the stillage sum of four-score bushels of Alfirin blossoms.

There was, but one Stiller in all Elisriendell who yet drew forth this wondrous essence. He would dispense this Oil to none but those who were of his kind; being "Ithil'Algethi"… Moon Masters. Even then, his levy was high, and the sum quantity for such levy was exceedingly slender; perhaps, one half-dozen drops. Torbair alone; by his standing as "Kurwa'Tur-selu En' Ithil'Algethi"… "The Craftmaster of High Moon-Magick"; could secure such a sum as was in the flask.

The Oil was manifested in diverse coiling pipes besetting great stilling vessels; one drop needed the span of five Sundial-shadows in the stilling, and he had used much on Arlanna. But, it was small score to settle when laid upon what he now saw before him.

For Arlanna had opened her eyes; those deep emerald eyes that gazed about her in manner of some young hearth-kitten that has, this moment, roused from its warm slumber. Then she gave gentle wince; the infant had gifted her a sturdy kick. She raised hand to her throat, saying,

'Forgive me, I must have drowsed away; my throat feels most singularly queer. I needs must take of some water. It must be this hay in which you find me reposing like some strumpet milking wench.'

Gwythlyn knelt to her, her eyes wide in amazement, saying,

'Not so, Arlanna, T'is hard to grasp, but in truth you were dead. You were despatched by Shadow-Wraiths, and have lain here, with your Charas flying free, for close on two moons.'

Arlanna coughed, as she cleared her throat,

'Faugh! You jest with me Gwythlyn; for I remember naught of this thing. I was reposing on the terrace thinking of Eldamar whilst I beheld the sun lowering to her slumber. I remember thinking how felicitous was my lot that I might watch the sun-sink for such a span in passing, before the night crept in. That is all the remembrance that I might grasp. Then later, perhaps, you confused a deep slumber for my demise.'

She smiled, softly; and stroked her belly.

'For my little tumbler-pigeon can be wearysome.'

Torbair made issue that they should go to fetch water for Arlanna whilst she composed herself. Without the stable he took the arm of Gwythlyn, and spoke softly,

'There is a thing here that is beyond my understanding. It is as if The Great Mother has effaced the parchment of remembrance in her mind of her demise. Perhaps, there is some Great Design of which we cannot know, set forth in The Dreaming of The Great Mother in concern of this infant that Arlanna carries. I cannot presage if this is a truthing, but, t'would be wise to hold such things as we know, guarded, and unspoken behind our teeth.'

Gwythlyn hearkened to the counsel of Torbair; though, in truth what she had seen in this place was far beyond her understanding. They repaired to the stable, where Arlanna had, by now composed herself. Coming forth from the stable she perceived the still smouldering ruin of the Great Hall. Her eyes wide, she cried,

'What is this thing that has befallen this place?'

Gwythlyn made to lay forth the truth of this thing, but then, she saw the dark stare of admonishment in the eyes of Torbair, and read therein, that she would be wise to keep her counsel. Torbair spoke gently,

'There was a great fire. T'is by singular fortune you were not therein.'

Arlanna stared,

'But what of our faithful retainers?'

Torbair answered,

'There were none hereabouts when we came upon this place as it flared into the night. Perhaps, they decamped to a safe place; perhaps, they perished within. There is no way that we might resolve this conundrum, for the blazing flames were so sturdy that, were they indeed, within; they would now be 'naught, but ashes.'

Arlanna gazed, as if mesmerised by the ruination, and she began to shiver and shake. Swiftly, Torbair spoke.

'There is no shelter here for you now. I elect that we ride you to Calverstock; for there you shall be safe.'

Arlanna spoke in manner distraught,

'But, what of the Hall? What of the Library of Eldamar? What of...'

Torbair hushed her; saying...

'Halls may be raised once more; Libraries may be gathered afresh. You are safe. That is all that matters.'

And again, he gifted Gwythlyn a glance that spoke plain that she should not speak the truthing of what had manifested in this place.

So it was; that safe in the embrace of the patrol of Militia troopers of Elisriendell, Arlanna would be conveyed away towards Calverstock. As they made ready to ride, Gwythlyn asked of Torbair why had the Charas not flown? It must be that they were not entrapped by the stable alone. Torbair had pondered this in deepness. This was not of the manner in which Charas commonly arose. There was more to this than at first, might be laid before the gaze.

This was a progression of curiosities, moving one to the next. The first curiosity was the swiftness of Gwythlyn's destruction of the Shadow-Wraiths before they had fully assumed their true form... for only in their true form might they take Charas. And this destruction had been wrought by one who was a Wraith-hunter; who, of all those who might have passed by; was alone in holding of the skill to prosecute this thing.

Then, again… the second curiosity was Gwythlyn laying Arlanna in the stable. Why then, this place, which was sturdily stone-built, and not some other building? And more; why did she think to make reckless gallop in seek of Torbair, who, alone in the Western Realms, held knowledge of the undoing of this dreadfulness? T'was certain-sure, she knew not that he was Craftmaster of High Moon-Magick; and scarce held any knowing of him; having met him but once, or twice. Indeed, there was much to this that might not be embraced by simple reasoning.

Such muse and ponder was not for now; it was for another time. Now, the need was pressing to ride Arlanna to the safe haven of Calverstock. As the sun was climbing, at about the seventh Sundial-shadow of the day, they departed the ruined Great Hall for the journey to Calverstock. As they rode east, Torbair elected that they should progress, at the first, to The Great Crystal Castle on The Cornflower-Blue Mere. There, they would elicit shelter for the night.

The progress to Calverstock would embrace at least four moons in ride; the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere was some eight, or nine Sundial-shadows in passing. Chelaine and Marcus would not decry them refuge. His thinking was thus: the ride to Calverstock was distant, and would certainly be tiresome for Arlanna. Perhaps, there would yet be gryphons at the Great Crystal Castle. It was like, as not, that some would remain there, watching for Suhai, albeit, such peril was slim these days. If there were yet some in remain and all had not been resettled in Calverstock, then Arlanna and Gwythlyn could fly them out to easterly; for this were infinitely safer than riding the plain of Amriath.

Torbair would return into the west to gather the Stone-Masters of Elisriendell. Then, they would raise the Great Halls of Eldamar once more, and further strengthen the Halls, perhaps, by throwing a sturdy wall about the whole. For, t'was certain-sure, that the Forces of The Darkness would yet, come a'calling when word prevailed that the Shadow-Wraiths had failed in their endeavours to destroy Arlanna and her unborn infant.

To this end, Torbair had laid a plan. He had decided that the Stone-Masters would be instructed to raise a sturdy stone bird-house... much like a dovecote, as they rebuilt the Great Halls. Torbair would ride to seek out his old intimate, the Moon-Sorceress, Ithilwen Silverleaf. She was Mistress of a fabulous gathering of birds, somewhere deep in the Singing Woods. These birds were called by name: Storm Linnets; or in the tongue of the Moon Folk: "Sengoldulin." They were kin in kind, to the fabled birds of the Mythical Goddess of the Far Northern Lands. She was known by name, as "Rhiannon." Many were the tales told of this Goddess, by travellers as they gathered about the hearth fires.

The Goddess Rhiannon, "Great Queen," t'was said; was the other face of the Mother of the Far Northern Tribes... "She Who is The White Mare; the Queen of the Otherworld," whose Birds could soothe the souls of the most troubled of mortals and even, t'was whispered, Elves and the like. She was a shape-shifter and often appeared as a white horse. As a mare-headed goddess, she carried the dead to the underworld, where she also reigned. She was always in company with her birds to welcome in the seasons; and three birds in particular, who could either kill the living or restore the dead... three beautiful, magick birds; one White, one Emerald green; and one Golden; to welcome in each season as it turned.

They sang enchanted songs which, t'was whispered could awaken the dead and lull the living to Eternal sleep. They could, it was said, heal the sick and wounded with their beautiful songs, against which, all other bird song was found wanting.

These Storm Linnets of Ithilwen Silverleaf were magick creatures, but of another face. When they sang; were it the wont of their Mistress; they could raise great, violent storms, such as would be most efficacious to deny progression of Shadow-Wraiths that, in their natural form, rode the skies in flit and prowl as they sought out their victims. When the Linnets sang, the great storms that they invoked would tear the Shadow-Wraiths into tendrils and shreds. Or so, was the tell that Torbair held in hope, was still the truthing.

Arlanna and Gwythlyn were welcomed by Chelaine and Marcus. They held great concern for Arlanna, standing pale and tired. Torbair had elected that 'naught be spoken of what had prevailed... other than there had been a fire. Chelaine and Marcus held great relief that Arlanna had prevailed. Certainly, they must ride out the gryphons if they wished to progress to Calverstock. Old Baelvane and Gildrim were here; but, why not stay at the Great Crystal Castle? They were more than welcome.

Gwythlyn elected that they would journey on, and perhaps, take residence at Rhom. There were 'pothicks there for when Arlanna's time stood 'nigh upon her. Chelaine agreed; this were a wise choice. So, t'was agreed, and no slight to hospitality there laid. The truth was different. Gwythlyn knew that Calverstock would be safer. Calelindi the Sorceress abided there, and now bonded to Elshore. She could weave a protection, the like of which the sturdy walls of the Great Crystal Castle could never furnish.

In the morning, refreshed from a night of safe slumber, the two gryphons were saddled in the courtyard. Torbair laid his farewells and rode away, up through the golden fields into the west, bound away into Elisriendell once more. Arlanna and Gwythlyn mounted the gryphons, who, spreading their wings, took to the skies in careful accord, and turned into the east, climbing gently into the bright summer morning... up and away towards The Delvlings, and Calverstock.

As the two gryphons made approach to Rhom, Torbair had progressed a sturdy measure of distance back into Elisriendell. He rode swiftly to the Court of The Lord, Laumil, Council Master of Elisriendell, seeking audience with his friend of old. He lay forth the tell of what had come to passing at the Halls of Eldamar. As Laumil hearkened to the tell, his countenance became stern, and pensive. He raised hand to Torbair and bid him hold his tell; Laumil had heard enough. He rose and made step to the door of the Great Chamber, calling attendance immediate of his Host-raising Master.

He laid instruction that the full sum of the Stone-Masters of Elisriendell were to be gathered. No dispute by those for whom they worked at present, would be countenanced. The Halls of Eldamar were to be raised to Stronghold standing in swift measure. Any who decried the gatherment of their Stone-Masters would answer to The Lord Laumil Himself.

The Stone-Masters of Elisriendell journeyed east to the ruined Halls of Eldamar. Great Ox-cart caravans of fresh-hewn, Elisriendell Limestone were trundled through the deep, greening forests of Elisriendell, where the rasp of saw filled the air as great Wych-Oaks were felled for beams and rafters. Torbair took his leave of the Court of Laumil and rode north, further into the deep greening, and bound for the Singing Woods of Lothluthil and the Love of his springtime, now long-flown in passing… the Moon-Sorceress, Ithilwen Silverleaf.

He rode deeper into the greening as he made struggle to recall where, in the Singing Woods of Lothluthil, he might find the pathway to the glade where the steading of Ithilwen Silverleaf was settled.

Many summers had flown since he made this journey; the greening had flourished, and the half-remembered pathways were not for the finding. He rode here and he rode there; but there was 'naught that held firm in his remembrance. He was as near lost as he ever might be. There would now be, but one way out; to keep the sun to his right-most side... indeed, when it could be seen through the deeping cloak of leaves; and ride forth until, with good fortune, he would strike the broad way once again. He turned his horse about, musing this misfortune, and beheld two maids clad in shining leissor mail, mounted upon snow-white Unicorns.

The two Riders of Lothleitha regarded him with quiet smiles. He had heard nothing of their approach. One maid spoke,

'Fair Morrow, Master Torbair; you are far from your hearth, and seeming beset with incertitude as to your pathway. I am Mahriel, Lead Rider of the Sisterhood of Lothleitha, since Staisha's sword arm was spoiled at Rhyddu and she withdrew from the Sisterhood to bond with Callam at Calverstock. Might we aid you in your adversity?'

Torbair told of his search for the steading of Ithilwen Silverleaf. Mahriel smiled.

'Indeed, t'would seem that you wander in circles, Master Torbair; the steading you seek is but a slender pace to the north from where you now stand. Come; we shall guide you there, and pleased to do so.'

Turning; they rode into the greening with Torbair, and there was, indeed truth in the word of Mahriel. Within a slim span in passing, there before Torbair stood the steading of Ithilwen Silverleaf. This was no rude bothy; this was a sturdy, stone-built edifice, with outhouses, barn, and elegant bird-house wherein would be kept the Storm Linnets. Mahriel and her rider bid Torbair farewell at the edge of the glade wherein was emplaced the steading. As they turned away, Ithilwen Silverleaf came out from the dwelling, curious to perceive who came a'visiting. As Torbair drew closer, she saw who it was, and hurried to greet him; a great smile upon her face. She spoke,

'Why, Torbair! I had not thought ever to see you in this place. It is good to see you; what do you here?'

Torbair smiled; Ithilwen Silverleaf held in sum, much the same span of summers as did he… something above two-score, but she was still a handsome matron. She stood some three, and one-quarter cubits; still slender of frame, and those eyes! The same eyes that he remembered from all those distant summers, long since flown. Eyes of a deep sapphire hue that sparkled like reflected starlight in the deep, dark pools of Luthilmere. Her hair fell in long, wavy, bejewelled tresses to her waist; being the colour of ripe horse chestnuts, but now, with a broad silver streak upon the left-most side of her temples.

Seeing her so, Torbair thought for a moment that he had been fool, all those summers since passed, to let her escape. But alas, what was passed was not for gathering anew. No matter; he dismounted, and they embraced. 'Aye, he had most certainly, been fool. She bid him enter her dwelling. Ithilwen sat him at table and brought for him, an elderflower cordial for his refreshment.

As he drank, she sat beside him and made small talk; of memories of their springtime days in gentle muse of what might have been, had she not chosen to become a 'prentice Sorceress to old Yllona, the Mage of the Greening; and set her feet upon the pathway of The Shadowed Moon. For the calling of 'prentice Sorceress was a lonesome path; there could be no sweet bonding together. She was shuttered away in the depths of the Singing Woods for ten long summers whilst she was tutored in the Creed.

Torbair had pined for her company, seeking solace in the teachings of the old Moon-Necromancer, Toromek. For there was a portent of war lurking about in the south, and such skills he might garner could stand to sturdy advantage 'gainst the Darklings when war came to Elisriendell... as it most certainly would. In this calling, Torbair had excelled. Under the mentoring hand of Toromek, he became a Craft-Master of the High Moon-Magick; but also, he knew the ways of Nature.

When The Great Suhai War broke over Elisriendell, he became adviser to The Lord Laumil. The far distant Plenmellar Suhai Host was, at length, engaged in the Vale of Pykestone on the northern edge of the deep greening. T'was here, that Torbair of Aiuthal was to embrace his standing as Craft-Master.

At the first; the war drums of the Black Host were heard echoing the Vale. Soon enough, the dark shadow of the Host was seen advancing through the distant water meadows. The Forces of Elisriendell held the heights of Pykestone Gill, where the gill tumbled its waters into Pykestone Beck which sundered the water meadows below. They were sorely outnumbered and held slim hope that they would take the day. But Torbair had a plan.

This was a day unlike any other in the recent past. Today, the sun would die for a slender span in passing. For Torbair knew that the moon, as she journeyed the heavens; would this day, pass betwixt them, and their prospect of the sun. For a slender span in passing, the sun would turn black as the moon passed before her. This could be the undoing of the Black Host; they knew nothing of such things; and t'was, as like, that terror would stalk them about at sight of this thing.

There was one more advantage he knew not of. To the rear of the Elisriendell forces, there stood a young Sorceress, fresh out of the Singing Woods. A young Sorceress by name: Ithilwen Silverleaf.

A whisper of fear prowled the heights. The war drums were now loud, and threatening; the tramp of countless feet trembled the water meadows. And there! In the skies above the Host, dark shapes flitting and wreathing above them... Shadow-Wraiths! That came ever onwards, hungry for pillage of Charas. Torbair made squint to the heavens; he saw the first tiny shadow on the face of the sun. This would be a close-run thing; the Shadow-Wraiths were closing swiftly. Then, Torbair sensed a presence behind him. He turned, and looked into the smiling, sapphire-blue eyes of Ithilwen Silverleaf, who spoke softly,

'Fair morrow Torbair, I had not thought to stumble upon you in this place.'

Before Torbair might reply, she took his hand and led him to the shoulder of Pykestone crag, overlooking the water meadows. She smiled,

'Now, let us lay the Destruction of The Light upon the heads of these vermin.'

She raised her arms out, reaching to either side, and began to sing a soft, and gentle melody. One by the one, small birds of a beautiful plumage flew to her, perching upon her outstretched arms. In a slender span in passing, there were some dozen or more settled upon her. She murmured something in a voice that Torbair could not understand and the birds began to sing. And here, the pure, unbridled truth; for, one moment, the sky was blue, and the next it was not. As if from nowhere, there came a sombre, and darkening half-light across the water meadows, and with it, a shrieking, raging wind. A wind that lifted up the Shadow-Wraiths and tore them asunder... a wind that howled about the Host, breaking their stride.

As it so did, Torbair raised his arms in full view of the Darkling Host. The sun turned to blackness, and the meadows became as dim as would a stormy twilight. The moon had fully covered the sun, just as Torbair knew that it would.

Now, the Elisriendell Archers loosed their arrows. Flight after flight thrummed into the milling and terrified Suhai, who imagined themselves beset with a deep and fearsome magick, invoked by this most powerful Enchanter they spied upon the hill. He had caused the sun to die! They were surely doomed!

The Suhai were penned hard by Pykestone Beck. It fully broke their advance, and they turned to run; thus, to escape the rain of arrows. But as they turned, they beheld to their terror, a company of Black Riders thundering down upon them. Black Riders, mounted upon black horses, and clad in black armour. Who fell upon them, and hacked them asunder where they stood.

The sky began to brighten; the darkening disc was slipping beyond the face of the sun. The Suhai Masters strove to form Regiment; but then, from the far reach of Pykestone crag, came a squadron of riders, clad in shimmering, leissor mail; all mounted upon snow-white Unicorns. Who cut into the flank of the war-host with shining swords, and drove the Suhai back into the arms of the terrible Black Riders. Turning again, the Suhai fled from the shriek of swords cleaving their armour... back into the rain of arrows from off the heights. At the last, the Elisriendell forces swept down the slope of Pykestone, and laid forth with sword to the remain of the Host.

Bloody carnage befell the water meadows of the Vale of Pykestone. The slaughter was terrible; Suhai were trampled into the beck and drowned as their comrades sought to escape. Few prevailed in this endeavour, and t'was said that Pykestone beck ran black with Suhai blood for a full league in measure, before the waters became clear again.

But that was long ago. It held sweet memory; for at length, when the Elisriendell Forces stood down, Ithilwen Silverleaf had taken Torbair back to her bothy to wash away the stink of the day… for food and drink; and to talk of their paths taken since they had parted. They had talked by candle-light deep into the night, and at the last, Ithilwen; now, deep in her cups... as was Torbair; from the Glow-fire they had been drinking; had invited him into her bed in reclaim of the passing summers they had held in the deny.

He had stayed with her for three moons until he must away, back to the Court of The Lord Laumil. Their farewells had been sweet; he was to call upon her again, were he passing this way; her hearth would always welcome him. Then, as now; he had thought himself fool for leaving her, but she had not petitioned him to stay. At the edge of the glade he had turned. She stood at her gate and waved him a fond farewell; as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He had not seen her again until this day. He laid before her the reason for his visit. He told of what had befallen Arlanna and the Halls of Eldamar; he told of the invocation of the Great Enchantment of Regress. He told of his thoughts for the strengthening of The Halls, and of the entreatment he needs must make of her. Ithilwen studied him with her deep sapphire eyes.

She spoke,

'I knew you were Craft-Master of the High Magick, but this invocation of the Great Enchantment of Regress… The "Entul-Nolatari" is beyond even my imagine of your powers. You may have six of the youngling Storm Linnets for your endeavour in the protection of the Lady Arlanna, and her wean. How you shall entice them to sing is another matter; for only a female may do this thing.'

Seeing the despondency in Torbair's eyes, she smiled softly, and said,

'Perhaps, I have a resolve to this conundrum.'

Then turning; she called,

'Catalyn, come you here, 'an you would.'

From another room, there came a girl. She would be holding in sum, close on a score of summers. She had the same Sapphire eyes; the same hue of hair… that of ripe horse chestnuts. She could be none other than the daughter of Ithilwen. Torbair gazed at her; t'was, as like, looking upon Ithilwen when they were young. Then, Torbair knew... though he dare not think the same. Ithilwen smiled;

'Aye, t'is true. She is your daughter. Begotten in love, from our nights after Pykestone. Come, Catalyn; bid your father fair-morrow.'

Catalyn stood to Torbair, and gazed at him with those deep Sapphire eyes. Torbair gazed back at her; his eyes were anxious… What would she say? What would she do? Would she accept or deny? He did not have to wait in ponder for a sturdy span in passing. Catalyn laughed, and threw her arms about him.

'Oh, father; I am told so much of you for so long a span in passing; indeed, since I was, but a child at mother's knee. And now; you are all that I imagined you might be. Welcome, my father; indeed… Welcome!'

Torbair asked of Ithilwen, why had she never sent word to him? He would have dearly liked to watch Catalyn grow. Ithilwen replied there was never the need for him to know, encumbered as he was with the Great Suhai War. For such knowing might have brought caution; and caution brought peril in battle. Better by far, he did not know. And then, when the war was spent; there never seemed the opportunity to reveal the same.

No matter, they were now united. Further; Catalyn had 'prenticed herself to her mother. She was now Moon-Sorceress in her own right. She would attend the Storm Linnets at the Halls of Eldamar, if t'were his wont.

Ithilwen then made sturdy regard of Torbair, saying… and as for them; was it not time Torbair thought to settle himself; perhaps, at her hearth; and forsake that lonely old mill? Torbair smiled… and then he laughed. He could think of no more fitting an ending to a tale such as this.