Chapter Nine.

A little too Measured... A little too Rustic.

A pair of Sundial shadows hence, as they came upon the tinkle and tumble of Cathonta beck; Artanis gave a heartsome sigh of relief… for there; a little beyond a quarter-league forward, stood the Baranthyr Gate at the defile of Aurenfell. This was a towering rock rampart cloven to gift passage; beset with two great, poled, iron braziers; being the kin of those that compassed surround of her homesteading of Bradda. She opened her mouth to speak; and as she so did, her eyes glanced back from whence they had ridden. There, she saw... with her eyes widening in fear, a covey of black shapes coming onwardly from out of the south. She cried,

'Eldamar…. Ride!... Ride!'

And, as one; they made wild gallop for the Baranthyr Gate. The Shadow-Wraiths came on at frightening pace, all curling and snaking across the skies; polluting the bright of the morning with their wailing, wordless cries of triumph as they fleetly cast off distance upon the wildly galloping riders.

It seemed Eldamar and Artanis must be forfeit to these dreadful shades; but then… they came down onto the Baranthyr Gate, hurtling therethrough in reckless gallop, with the Shadow-Wraiths about their very heads; black tendrils of shadowy brume clutching at them. And, as they passed through; the braziers burst forth in flaming. As they so did; the black shadows billowed, and burst forth into the same shriek-pierced, stinking clouds as had manifested before when Shadow-Wraiths embraced their destruction, complete.

A little beyond; into the defile of Aurenfell, they reined in and cast backward gaze. The skies to south were bright, and clear. Of the dreadful shades there was no sign; 'naught, but a whisper of nebulous misting that was swiftly caught by the wind and whirled away by the whimpering east winds that stroked The Plain of Malphaers.

Seeing the cast of bewilderment upon the face of Eldamar, Artanis lay the truth of this thing to him. Catching her breath, she spoke,

'Here, you see the Power of The Wiccen Rede. The Baranthyr Gate is the portal to a singularly sturdy, and significant girdle of enchantment compassing all about the Realm of Arfeiniel. It was woven by the Sister Priestesses of the Wiccen Rede as a Bastion 'gainst the barbarians. In this, you now see why no Darkling Horde has ever incursed my homeland. No creature of The Darkness may breach this girdle. The only portal is wherethrough we have just ridden. Any insinuation of these vermin, and the braziers kindle. Any such Darkling about or betwixt them, is effaced… as if he had never been; in the span of a heartbeat. We are now secure from imperilment.'

Eldamar made to speak, but, then, suddenly…. Artanis hunched over her saddle pommel; her face beset with a fleeting clutch of pain. With her hands to her belly, she gifted Eldamar a wry, and strained grin.

'Methinks, I needs must progress those cloaking bushes yonder. My Moon-flow is behindhand the sum of eight moons, and seems to whisper to me that it now comes a'calling, for I am beset with a most sturdy cramping.'

She wheeled her mount about and slowly progressed beyond sighting. Eldamar held where he was, pondering all that had gone before. In a slender span in passing she returned, puzzlement besetting her face.

'T'was nothing… but why then, such crampings? For this is not a thing that afflicts me…'

Then a shadow of fright beset her countenance. She spoke, as if to herself…

'My Moon-flow has forsaken me… it has never forsaken me before. These crampings; could it be… the tell of Beriana has come to fulfilment, and I am with child? And if so… has our wild ride beset me with Childing-founder?... Oh, My Lord, let it not be so.'

The tears sprang to her eyes and tumbled her cheeks. Eldamar made dismount and lifted her down from horse into his arms. She clung to him; beset with bitter weeping. He brushed her tear-tumble from her cheeks and holding her with his gaze, spoke,

T'is, as like, that if there be an infant; it is secure. I know something of these things. If you were beset by such dreadful calamity as you imagine, there would be some sign. Mayhap, not as resolute as common Moon-flow; but some sign, nonetheless.'

He held her for some fair span in passing, quietly soothing her with his gentle wise words; until she had redeemed her calm. Then he lifted her up onto her steed, and mounting Starshadow, they progressed on up the defile of Aurenfell at easy pace to the north, bound for the soft uplands of Arfeiniel. The defile gathered in steepness, and so they made dismount to progress up the last steep slope. As they accomplished the cresting of the rise, the defile of Aurenfell yielded its towering, rocky embrace of the pathway. Looking back, they saw the braziers of the Baranthyr Gate stood sturdy in flaming. They saw too, the flit and drift of black shadows without the gate. But the way was closed to them. None might pass through. It had indeed, been a close-run thing but they had prevailed, and they were safe.

Turning again, they looked out from the hill-top, over lands that lay tranquil-clear, and far-seen… laying, as like, some passion-spent wench lolling under the caress of the high of the morning. Arfeiniel… Motherland of the Wiccen Rede. Arfeiniel… refuge at last! The way that Artanis now said they should follow wound along the Downs, skirting a great cairn that thrust its stony shoulders up out of the green flanks of the easterly reaches of Tillethmhor. Thence, they would ride down to another deep, yet broader valley; and beyond, over the shoulder of further hills, then on down into new valleys.

There were few trees... 'nor any visible water: it was a land of grass and spongy turf; all wind-stroked by a soft, sighing breeze from the east… silent, save for the whisper of breezing grasses and, on occasion, the high, lonesome cry of a bird upon the wing.

They rode on, seeing little, but the grassy Downs. They needs-must, soon enough, come down upon some beck or pool; for their water pouches were diminishing in swift accord. Artanis, no more complained of cramping; t'would seem all stood well again with her. Then, they beheld a thing to gift a bright lifting to their anxious hearts; for it seemed that they had come further already than they had fancied. In truth, the distances had now all become hazy and cozening, but there could be no doubt that the Downs were slowly fading to their furthermost reaches.

A long valley lay below them, all winding away westerly until it came to an opening betwixt the last two embosoming shoulders of the softening hills. Beyond, there seemed to be no more hills and only the gentle heartland of Arfeiniel. Marching the horizon could plainly be seen a long dark line. Artanis spoke…

'That is the stand of trees thrown along the broad way towards Bradda. Along the broad way we shall encounter settlements. There we may 'plenish our water pouches, and certainly elicit shelter. Our span of ride to Bradda will spend three moons from whence we strike the broad way.'

The sun was now standing a pair of Sundial-shadows beyond zenith as they rode down into the gentle heartland of Arfeiniel. The thin line of trees along the broad way stood some five, or so leagues distant. Their water pouches were long since drained, and the need to take of drink for themselves and their mounts would soon stand sturdy before them. Distantly, Eldamar espied a clutch of the small Dun cattle that roamed these heartlands; and there! A leaning of willows. Most willows grew and thrived close to water, or in damp places; so perchance there would be a pool or dew pond thereabouts. For it was certain-sure that these hardy little cattle would stay close to where there was water for them to drink. Turning towards the willows, Eldamar and Artanis made careful progress through the gathering of these beasts. The cattle gave snort and stamp of hoof in their passing; appraising with watchful brown-eyed stare, these who trespassed their quietude; but then, turned again to give chew to the sweet grasses.

Before them, beneath the arch of the willows, Eldamar and Artanis beheld the pool. Some portion of the bank was downtrodden where the cattle came to drink, but the remainder thrived with all manner of late-summer meadow flowers. Here, there was Buttercup and Cranesbill; Mallow and Water-marigold; Bee-orchid and Meadowsweet.... a haven of coolness, all buzzing with bees.

Making dismount, they loosed Starshadow and Artanis's Cordach crossling to slake their thirst. Eldamar knelt to replenish the water pouches whilst Artanis bent, and cupped her hands down into the clear coolness of the pond; drawing them forth, with waterspill all tinkling, to douse the dust of ride from off her face. Shaking the water splash from out of her flaming red hair with toss of her head, she leaned against the nearer willow and gazed about the meadows. Though seemingly of small substance, this simple act held a great significance to Eldamar; versed as he was in the Old Wisdoms. Artanis perhaps, held no knowing of what she was now embracing; she might think she was simply leaning against a tree.

Eldamar though; knew otherwise. He knew the willow was the tree most associated with the Moon, Water; The Great Mother, and all that is Feminine. It was the tree of dreaming, intuition, and deep emotions. In the Old Wisdom, it belonged to the beginning of spring, when all life was stirring in the depths, and preparing to flourish. Here was a bodement, as if, writ plain upon parchment, that Artanis did indeed, carry safe The Golden Child who would become the Mighty Bastion of The Light in the Western Realms. And, as he gazed upon Artanis leaning against the old willow; her composure tranquil and serene; he knew without doubting that all would stand well in the span of her gravidity.

Having taken drink of the surprisingly sweet water of the pool, they lounged in the shade awhile, in that pretty haven. Eldamar made idle muse as he bewreathed a garland of the bright Water-marigold blossoms for Artanis to circle upon her brow. T'was an age in passing since he had last prosecuted this whimsy. Marigold blossom garlands were worn on Midsummer Eve in the dance about the Litha fires. They were worn as symbol of the Sun, and cast into the fires in homage to ripen the grain harvest betwixt then, and Lammas. Artanis lay in the sweet grass, gazing up into the endless blue of the skies; She felt at oneness with the land, and her humour was calm and serene; as if all the horrors of the past were, as if, but a dream in the night.

At length, they needs must move on. With water pouches sturdy full, they decamped that little shady haven and struck out for the march of trees a little below three leagues hence. In the passing of a little above one, and one -half Sundial-shadow spans they accomplished the broad way. There would now be some pair of Sundial-shadows in remain until eventide. With fair fortune they might come down upon some settlement 'ere the sun lowered in the western skies.

The broad way was bound sturdy to both sides with trees of diverse sorts... oak and ash; elm and poplar, all bound betwixt with manifold sorts of shrub in the underwood. This encloaking of the broad way gave welcome shade; t'was best guess that this march of trees had been laid to shield the broad way from the drift of winter snows so that it would not become choked and impassable. Still; in another place and time it would gift a singular peril to travellers, being 'nigh perfect for ambuscade by robbers and cut-throats. Yet, in this time, and in this place… there was no such peril, and so they rode on in good heart.

A pair of leagues along the broad way, they perceived the welcoming scent of peat smoke. Accomplishing a crook in the broad way; before them, they espied the settlement. As they rode in, they beheld a clutch of low, thatched roundhouses. The clatter of their mounts hooves drew forth a greybeard from the nearer steading. Eldamar laid greetings upon him and petitioned that they might over-rest here this night. The greybeard regarded them with chary, but said he would conduct them to The Old Woman who would settle her resolve upon this issue. Two young males came forward and took charge of their mounts as the greybeard led them to a roundhouse further into the settlement. Gesturing with his arm, he bid them enter in.

The recesses of the roundhouse were warm and smoky. A stone hearth stood at centre of the single room, with the peat smoke curling up to gather about the willow wand roof bracings; thence, wreathing out of the smoke hole in the crown of the roof. Sitting upon a stool before the hearth was an old, white-haired woman in uncountable receipt of summers. She was corpulent and baggy-throated, and gazed at the two intruders with a pale, milky stare. The greybeard who had trailed them into the roundhouse fell upon his knees before her, and spoke in some mumbled style of mongrel Algethi; seeming to lay tell of the require of the intruders. As he spoke, he kept his eyes to the floor of the roundhouse, and not once, did he look her in the face. She was sacred; hallowed… She was The Old Woman.

When he had laid the tell in full, he made good his feet and backed away. Still, he did not look her in the face; 'nor did he turn his back upon her until he was at the portal of the roundhouse. The Old Woman beckoned Eldamar and Artanis to her. She appraised them both with her vague, and milky stare. Then she spoke.

'Sooo…You are come here from out of the south in seek of shelter. Do you not hold the fearing of us? Many do; for we are the People of The Hollow Hills, and may spirit away your Charas in the dark of the night.'

Eldamar gifted her a smile, though Artanis was hard-pressed not to make the sign of The Horns to this ancient, and sinister old hag. He spoke;

'Old Woman; The People of the Hollow Hills have never held ill will to those of us who are for The Oneness of The Light. Why then, do you seek to beset us about with discomfit? We seek only some place to rest our heads this night.'

The Old Woman gifted them a dry, cacklesome laugh;

'Sooo then, you are The Guardian who laid the blight of doom upon the barbarians to the south. This then, stands as a consummate differentness. You, and your companion are welcome at our hearth. Come; eat and drink with us. We shall then find you a cot for your repose.'

She saw the frightened look in Artanis's eyes, and gave again, the dry, cacklesome laugh;

Why, child… are you a'feared that if you break bread with us you shall awaken upon some hillside, a hundred summers from now; with your babe full-grown, and all your companions and kin-folk long since dead?'

For this was a thing that all younglings learnt at their mother's knee. T'was part of growing up. No food 'nor drink should be taken when in the steadings of The People of The Hollow Hills, 'else you be lost forever to their enchantments. But, how did she know of Artanis's hope that she was with child? The Old Woman spoke again;

'Methinks you need make commune with Mistress Filraen, the midwife of this place. I descry that you have heretofore embraced a fright in this matter, and she may tutor you in what needs to be known.'

Eldamar and Artanis were led from the Old Woman's presence to another roundhouse where they were greeted by the Midwife Filraen. She was a pretty maid; comely, in the slender-boned manner of the People of The Hollow hills. She told Eldamar he should wait without whilst she adjudged Artanis's condition. In due course, he was summoned within. Artanis sat by the hearth, her countenance beset with a soft smile. Filraen bade Eldamar to sit, saying,

'Mistress Artanis is indeed with child, and all is well. The child is as yet, no sturdier in sum than an early summer hazel nut within the pod of her belly; and the cramping that beset her was, as like, 'naught but this tiny scrap of new life making nestling settle within. Yet, 'tis prudent to be wise in this thing, and so I shall brew a drinking potion of Raspberry leaf and Black-haw bark to gainsay any prospect of childing-founder.

Further; there are other efficacious potions for the ease of the mother as the term of carry is prosecuted. There is a remedy of Chamomile blossom for the retch of the morning; Dandelion leaves and Burdock root will gift robust denial to the wan-ness of humour; and there are many more. I shall scribe them all down upon parchment; for I am lettered in the common tongue; and thus, you may repair to homeward with the same as gift from the women of The People of the Hollow Hills to their sisters of the Western Realms.'

Offering effusive thanks to Filraen the midwife, Eldamar and Artanis repaired to the larger round house of the settlement which was used as gathering place. The Old Woman had told that they should make step thereto, after Filraen the midwife had laid forth opine in the matter of Artanis's standing.

As they crossed the open prospect of the settlement, with Artanis all bright-eyed and enraptured at this blithesome reveal; the goldening light of evening was fading swift in the west to a pale, soft, mulberry twilight. As they walked in common rejoice; into the quietness stole a plaintive, reedy thread of bird-song… the thin, regretful, early autumn song of a linnet somewhere in the wild crab apple trees; singing out her melancholy refrain in the telling that summertime had almost run.

Within the gloom of the roundhouse were a few of the dwellers of the settlement. As with all of these places, there was the open hearth in the middle of the floor, and the air was stout with peat smoke. There was small sum of word passed betwixt the newcomers and those who sat about, eyeing them with wary, watchful stare of their dark gaze. The flicker and dance of the flames cast shadows about the wattled walls and willow roof rods.

A young maid brought them food and drink, proffering the same with a shy, thin smile… though her dark eyes were watchful; as of the rest of her kind. Eldamar smiled into her heedful gaze, and took of the barley bread and hard, yellow cheese, as did Artanis. The drink was brought in wooden beakers, seeming carved from sycamore or the like; all banded about the rims with ancient silver. The beakers contained a cool woodland drink… not sweet, like heather beer; and possessing a flame deep within its amber heart.

At length, with the barley bread and the cheese eaten, and the beakers drained of the amber drink; Eldamar and Artanis were led from the roundhouse by the maid who had attended them. She walked them across the settlement by the pale light of a great moon rising fat in the east, towards yet one more roundhouse; mayhap, not so sturdy as the rest; but as they entered within, it was clean and warm. The floor was not simple trodden earth, but was bestrewn with sweet, fresh bracken; the hearth was laid... not with the pungent peat turves, but with apple-wood logs. To the side was a low wicker cot laid with a goose-feather tick, and beset with a mantle of soft otter pelt. The maid offered up a slender smile. She spoke;

'I am Seren; daughter's daughter of The Old Woman. She honours you, Sun Lord; for this is the lodge steading where revered Elder Clan Lords in visitation from distant settlements are quartered. Further; should you need to take easement in the night, there is a Bothy of Office but a few paces behindwards of this place.'

In turning to progress without; the maid spoke again;

'When you be safe a'bed, I shall return for your garments and take them for cleansing away the sloven of ride. You shall progress better on the morrow 'an they be fresh.'

Then she was gone.

In the soft, and fragrant warmth of the apple-wood fire-glow, as they cast off their garments; Eldamar mused upon the words of Seren. In the west; the Dark People of The Hollow Hills had ever been held as unlettered pagans of small significance... those to be watchful of in the gloom of the night; for they moved in manner of shadows in a dream.

As Artanis made preparation for sleeping, Eldamar stepped without to appraise this Bothy of Office, as she had called it. Before him, there stood a small edifice, with roof of thatch and sturdy door. Within; by light of the slender taper he had brought, he espied a sturdy shelf of planking with a hole cut therein, some half-cubit in round. This hole was firmly closed with a circle of wood; being crafted in the kin wood of the timber planking, 'bellished with a knob with which to lift the same. So it was, the hole was compassed by sitting thereon; and spoil of easement so gifted, made progress down into a pit of such deeping as was not for the knowing.

Eldamar smiled. He had seen these before, but only in Halls and Palaces, and dwellings of sturdy measure. In such places, these were called "Privies", and were to be found only in the abodes of the rich and powerful. Sometimes, they were within these places; sometimes, they were without. He repaired from out of the bothy and looked about. Each roundhouse stood in receipt of bothy, the same. So, these People of The Hollow Hills were indeed, far more graceful in manner than many an Algethi of his acquaintance; who would not squander a thought to span, but a moment, in decamping into the woods to scoop out a hollow and squat thereover. T'was passing strange then, that in the stand of ignorance of their regard for their domain, and habits thereto; that these little Dark folk were so falsely painted in the mind as savages.

Returning to the roundhouse, he cast off his garments and slipped under the otter pelt mantle. The cot was warm and welcoming. There came a tapping upon the portal, and the maid, Seren stepped within. She gathered the garments up, bid them fair repose and slipped back out into the night. Artanis made snuggle into Eldamar, and soon, they were asleep; and no hint of passion prosecuted that night.

On the morrow; they awoke to find the maid, Seren waiting. She held forth two beakers of Elderflower cordial for their awakening refreshment. Their garments were laid out awaiting them. The linen drawers and Eldamar's shirt were all freshly washed and sweet. The leathern garments; Artanis's breeches and bosom covering, and Eldamar's breeches and jerkin, lay fresh-boned and oiled to softening with some delicate oil. T'was, as like… the oil of Almond nuts. This would decry rub and chafe in their onwards ride.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Seren waited until they had drained the beakers and then took the same, and made to step without. In turning, she said they should repair to the gathering stead for food. Having washed themselves and taken to their garments, Eldamar and Artanis stepped out into the soft of a beautiful morning. Crossing the settlement, they accomplished therein, the stead of gathering.

This time, there were no watchful stares. Taking their seats at a great oaken table, they were each given a bowl of some hot. and velvety melding of crushed oats and warmed milk from the little Dun cows; the like of a sturdy gruel which the little Dark folk called "Vysodi." It was indeed, a sturdy victual that sat warm and comforting in their bellies... sturdy enough and more, to sustain them for the sum of the morning in passing!

Seren came with an earthen pitcher of some apple cordial... a cordial that lay sweet upon their tongues and gifted them a whispered promise of golden autumn days... the hay-loft smell of Harvest home, and the lighting of the Lammas torches. A whisper of those days of fiery sunsets in the western skies; the quickening time of summer's passing as the greening took up her rustling, golden mantle of autumn.

At length, when they were fulfilled, Seren conveyed them to the presence of The Old Woman. As they sat before her, she made steady regard of them with her milky stare, and then spoke…

'Sun Lord; you have over-rested in our settlement and shown not the fear 'nor the lacking in trust that blights those of your kind. In this; I say there is born a binding together betwixt us. We are not strong, and we are scattered as wide as seed falls upon a windy sowing day; but… should there arise need for you to gather trackers and watchers, then we are in accord that we shall answer the call of the Sun Lord.

I see that The Light is bright in the west, and will grow brighter still when The Golden Child be born. And there shall indeed, be a need for the brightest light in times as yet to come. She shall come to your Halls before she is woman grown, with her mother, who will stand with you in bond. At the appointed time; The Golden Child and her brother shall ride out enclasped in the arms of the one you would call by name, Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," and with the mighty Sword "Runya en Numen," called too, "Citadel of The Eternal Truth," that now lies in the City of Rhom; The Golden Child shall occasion the smiting down of The Darkness beyond all hope of the returning. Then, and only then, shall your land of Amriath be free forever of this creeping blight.'

Eldamar said 'naught; for a shiver of sort that tells that a grey goose has just flown above your grave embraced him as The Old Woman spoke of mothers and bondings. Was there something amiss with Arlanna, back in the Shining Lands? Artanis gave a soft snort of derision.

'Brother? There shall be no brother…you speak puffery and riddle, Old Woman…'

Seren stayed the scorn of Artanis; swiftly making the sign of The Horns; her dark eyes wide with alarm…

'Speak not so, Mistress, for such things are here known… She is The Old Woman.'

For the span of a pair of heartbeats there was silence…the silence of the grave all about the roundhouse, then… The Old Woman laughed; a great, dry, cacklesome laugh. Her baggy throat swayed about; her corpulent frame gave quiver and wobble as she slapped her crooked old hands down upon her pursy haunches.

'Sa, Sa… you are a wild, and feisty wench, Artanis Seregon. I see myself in you, as if gazing into a looking glass far back into my long-since faded, springtime days. The Golden Child will have a mother worthy of her standing. 'Aye, I like you, Artanis Seregon.'

The tears dribbled from her eyes in her mirthing. They all stood in amaze at this reveal of The Old Woman. The folk of the settlement gathered therein, regarded Artanis as if, in awe. The Old Woman was speaking again.

'Cabal Mistress, you need hearken to my tell; for this is how it shall come to passing.'

She reached out, and held Artanis's face betwixt her crooked old hands; gazing deep into her eyes; then spoke some words in a curious tongue unknown to all, save her people. Then she looked to Eldamar, saying…

'Your time with us has run its course; it is time for you to journey on, Sun Lord. Go in peace, and remember.'

Then, turning away; she set her pale, milky stare in ponder of the flickering flames as they danced amidst the tangly patterns the silvering ash trailing across the peat turves of the fire. Settling into her deeping muse; she dismissed them with a casual wave of her old gnarled hand.

Seren led them out of her company, and stood in the sunshine with them as their mounts were brought forward. As they mounted she stood betwixt them, and gazing at the first... to Eldamar, and thence... to Artanis. She spoke,

'You are held in the bounteousness of The Old Woman. She has laid what you would call the Benison of The People of Hollow Hills upon Mistress Artanis. All will forwardly stand well for her; for she is now embraced by The Old Wisdom. 'An the need stands, fire a beacon upon the shoulder of Ling, and my brothers shall come. Fare you well Sun Lord; fare you well, Mistress… and fair speed to your steadings.'

She moved from betwixt them and was gone, as swiftly as some wild creature is lost from sight in the grasses of a meadow.

Eldamar and Artanis rode away to the west. They rode in muse and ponder of the words of The Old Woman. On the face of it, t'were a nonsense; but who was to say? Eldamar knew well, the weavings and reachings of The Old Wisdom.

They rode the breadth of the morning. At length, the march of trees bound sturdy to both sides along the broad way that had guided them arrow straight began to thin. The soft Wolds of Arfeiniel lay rolling before them. Now, they were coming into farmstead lands. They held water enough to ride the span of the after-zenith, and would not need to seek shelter until eventide. They rode on through fields of ripening grain; through orchards of plump, and blushing apples. The day was fair; the sky was blue. Here and there they smelled wood smoke, and caught hearken of the distant lowing of cattle. How different to the desolation that was Astalan.

At about the fifth Sundial-shadow beyond zenith, they came upon a wide-flung farmstead. This would serve as well as any to seek shelter. As they clattered into the steading yard, the sound of hooves upon cobbles bought forth a plump and cheery Matron from the stone-built abode. She gazed at Eldamar and then, at Artanis, and her face brightened in knowing. She cried...

'Artanis… Artanis Seregon; Oh… welcome, child; we had thought you long lost to the barbarians in the east… and this must be The Lord Eldamar… come you both within; come in!'

She bustled and flustered about them as like a Corsair Galley under full sail, shepherding them within. Great platters of Barley cakes, slabs of country cheese; pitchers of milk, and heather beer appeared upon the broad farmstead table as if enchanted there by some moonstruck witch. She made prattle and chatter all about them like some eager magpie, until Eldamar needs must call a halt to her wittering. Gently he asked,

'Mistress, it seems you know of us, but, I fear we do not hold the same in you.'

She ceased chatter, as if in surprise. Then, a little pink of countenance, she made reply;

'La; forgive me, you would not. I am the sister to Artanis's mother. I was, in my springtime, a trifle sturdy in the beam to become a Cabal maid in Bradda. So I became bond-mate to a farmsteader, Joran of Panilor. I saw Artanis, but a handful of times as she grew to womanhood in Bradda. I am Alcina. This farmstead is, by name… Falan, and you are most welcome.'

Eldamar made reply,

'I thank you for your welcome, Mistress Alcina of Falan; we would be most beholden if you would grant us leave to overstay the night in this place.'

Alcina made swift respond;

'Most certainly, you must abide here this night; for I would have stood contumely, had you not chosen, so to do.'

As they sat at table, Artanis laid question to Alcina.

'What became of your bond-mate, Mistress Alcina; Sister of my Mother?... for I have seen no-one else hereabouts.'

Alcina gifted her a sad, soft smile;

'Sa, Sa; this is indeed the truth of it. For when the drums beat forth in the Shire, and the Militia made gatherment; my Love stood up for the measure and the weighing, and was not found to be wanting. He knew 'naught of war, but still he marched away with his brother farmsteaders and woodsmen. They made a brave sight as they marched out abroad into the east...'

Her eyes became soft with tears, and yet held gaze, so proud;

'And that... t'were the last time I saw him; Joran fell at the Baranthyr Gate.'

Wiping the tears from her cheeks with a fine cambrick kerchief, she took up the tell once more. She smiled sadly...

'The Shire Militia was mustered in deploy as a Pioneer company. They were set to clearing out the rocks and the underwood from the throat of the defile of Aurenfell so that the Baranthyr Gate might stand complete, to close the Enchanted Girdle of Arfeiniel. The braziers were raised, and in progress of fettle.

My Love was below the reach of the Baranthyr Gate with his Shire brothers, laying the approaches devoid of scrubbings. As they laboured with mattock and billhook; with scythe and spading fork; the barbarians fell upon them, having made sturdy and unperceived progression up from the south. My Love and his brothers engaged them with 'naught but farming tools; holding them until the braziers stood complete.

It is commonly told that the stand of the farmsteaders and woodsmen; of the wattle-makers and thatchers of the Shire, was Heroic in measure beyond Heroic. They held the barbarian Horde for close, three-parts of a Sundial-shadow span, there… in the very throat of Aurenfell. In the end, all were lost, but they delivered up time enough for the braziers to be fired; thus, denying the barbarians progress into Arfeiniel. Joran sleeps with his brothers in the great cairn upon the shoulder of the Downs above the defile of Aurenfell.'

She was silent for a little while, and then she gazed at them with the same sad, soft smile.

'And that were close on three summers now passed. Since then, I have tended Falan on my own, and it is not so bad; but, I miss him. 'Oft times in the soft of the night, I yearn to feel his strong arms about me in cuddlesome warmth. But then, if I strive to put the itch out of my thoughts; then, the need to scratch the same fades; and in the main, I am content.'

For a little while, she was silent, gazing down into her beaker of heather beer as she gathered up her memories; then, as like a squirrel bestowing away acorns for overwinter; she laid them, all softly wrapped, into some warm, and secret place within herself. Her face brightened as she took up her cheerful magpie chattering once more. She made eager petition that they tell full sum of their adventures in Astalan.

Eldamar spread out the tell in its completeness, yet, he did not reveal any of the horror of it. For he knew full well, that this munificent and blithe Farmsteading Mistress held an imagine of trust… as did all females who had lost their mates in war; that Joran of Panilor had perished with a swift, and merciful cleanness.

Eldamar knew that this was certain-sure, not to be the truthing of it. He had seen the dreadful wounds laid forth by the Horanaurk Kelek-Berskers. He had heard the shrieks of those so afflicted, as they lay for mayhap, a sturdy sum of Sundial-shadow spans 'ere they perished. Better by far, for Mistress Alcina to embrace her hopeful fancy of the manner of the passing of her Joran, than to set her face to the likely truth of it.

At length, they were conducted abovestairs to the chambers. Each was appointed their own. Alcina made assumption that they were 'naught, but companions. No dispute was given to her; for she was a plain country Matron, and held no thought to lay suppose otherwise. For in her thinking, t'were bonded pair who shared a bedchamber. Those not so joined… did not. As she bid them fair repose, Artanis cast a swift glance to Eldamar; a tiny smile upon her lips regarding Alcina's thinking. Eldamar held her gaze, and then, with eyebrow wryly raised; entered into his assigned chamber and closed the door.

After a night spent in a great, soft, embosoming bed; Eldamar awoke to the sun streaming in through the casement. He stretched in indolent disrelish of the thought of abandoning this splendidly soft place for a jouncing saddle; but needs must…

Swiftly bathing in the cold water from the jug and pitcher on the low table by the nether wall, he donned garb, and went down into the farmsteading kitchen where Artanis and Alcina were sitting at the great oaken table in exchange of chatter. As they chattered at table, Alcina was laying on sturdy spoonbeat and stir to the sum of whatever dwelt within the depths of a great earthen bowl that she clasped to her bosom. They made cease their chatter as Eldamar came to table. Alcina spoke…

'Fair morrow, my Lord; slept you well?'

Eldamar replied;

'I thank you, Mistress Alcina; indeed, I slept well, t'was a singularly comfortable bed.'

She gifted him a great beam of satisfaction and laid forth with the spoon into the bowl once more. Eldamar watched the sturdy clatter, then asked;

'What then, is within this bowl that stands needful of such stern rebuke?'

She gave forth a hearty laugh;

'Why, My Lord; t'is a sound country fare that shall hold you in worthy fettle as you ride the day to Bradda. All it is; is fine-milled barley flour, milk; and a clutch of eggs from the hens that rootle my orchards. The melding though, has need of this sturdy battering.... which is why it is called batter!'

She rose from table and carried the bowl to the hearth. Setting it upon the hearthing stone; she drew forth from a low closet, a shallow pan. She poured a little Almond nut oil therein, and ladled forth what might be best called a "dollop" of the meld into the pan. Settling it upon the hearth fire, she bestowed swirl and sidle to the pan until the dollop of meld covered the whole of the pan bottom, as all the while, she held the pan to hearth-heat.

A wondrous aroma crept about the kitchen as she stayed her hand at swirl and sidle, and began to shift the pan back and forth. Then, at some chosen moment, known best to her; she lifted the pan from the hearth, and with a swift flick of her wrist, tossed the sum of content of the pan into the air. From thereout, arose a thin disc of this "batter," which, as it flew into the air, turned about, bottom to top, showing golden-ness to its underside, and a pale cream to its upper reach. It fully turned about itself in the air, and, in tumbling down, was captured with the cream side downwards into the embrace of the pan once again. Indeed, a most singularly skilled endeavour on the part of Mistress Alcina!

She then put the pan to hearth once more to complete the cooking task. In a slender span of passing, she turned out this disc upon the hearthstone, and began again with one more dollop of this batter. So it was, she progressed with this art, until, at length, there sat a great pile of the golden discs upon the embracing warmth of the hearthing stone. Bringing forth a great platter; she piled them thereon, and brought the same to table. Eldamar had never beheld such a thing; true, there were baked breads of diverse array in the Western Realms; but this…

He made enquire of Alcina; what was this called? She replied;

'By some, t'is called "Flannel cake"… by others, "Hotcake." I have always known it as "Battercake," for it is secured by the heating of the batter!'

She gave of one of these "Battercakes" to each, and brought forth a great pot of honey, wherein she dipped a wooden dipper having the measure of a common bodkin, but possessed of a head in manner of some great acorn; all circled about its girth with many thin, but deeply carved groovings. Drawing the dipper forth from pot, t'was seen that the honey clung about the groovings compassing the head in sturdy sum; then, by turning it about in her hand, the honey drizzled from off the head onto the battercake. With her fingers, she rolled the battercake up until it embraced the appearance of some thick plant stem; then, t'was carefully raised to her lips and eaten.

Eldamar and Artanis, having watched; beset with curiousness, prevailed upon their battercakes in manner, the same. The taste was sweet and delicate; the honey whispered of clover blossom; and soon enough; the pile of warm, golden battercakes was consumed. They lay sturdy and gratifying in their bellies. Alcina had laid the tell true. These honeyed battercakes would indeed, hold them in fine fettle for their onwards ride, and t'was a nonsuch morn to ride for Bradda. The sky was endless blue, and not a cloud to be seen; a morning such as autumn will show as she vies with her summer sister for the hearts of Algethi and Men.

Eldamar resolved he must hold the sum of parts of these battercakes in remembrance; they would indeed, be well-met in the Western Realms. At length, t'was time to leave the welcoming haven of Falan. Alcina made them provision for their ride, of bannock and cheese; of water pouches filled with the sweet Falan well water, and a pair of flasks filled with bell-heather and clover beer.

Eldamar and Artanis both bade fond farewell to Alcina, telling of their gratitude for her hospitality. She made stern require that should either pass this way again, they would pay her visitation. Her hearth would always welcome them. Here, was covenant made; then turning their mounts, they rode out of the cobbled farmsteading yard to ride her fields into the west.

As they rode to the late of the morning; all was placid. There was no meeting with travellers upon the broad way. The cattle in the fields were naught, but cattle; the birds in the sky were naught, but birds. Their progress held one small fright, when an ill-humoured and sturdy wild boar embraced a snorting affront to their passing through his domain and clattered the road behind them for a little while, 'till they stood clear of his realm. T'was as like, that he had a sow and a summer litter somewhere thereabouts, but t'was still quite a fright!

Then, a little before the reach of the eleventh Sundial-shadow of the morning, they espied him. He came along the broad way towards them; at casual glance, a herder driving a clutch of little Dun cattle before him. But there was something that stood not quite to the truthing of this thing. T'was no easy thing to lay finger upon. Perhaps, t'were his ambling gait... a little too measured. Perhaps, t'were his garb... a little too rustic; with broad-brimmed hat and scurvy milking smock. It might have been the demeanour of the little Dun cows that did not wander in aimless accord, as is the wont of driven cattle; more, they held regimented progress, as if will-bound by spellcasting. It might have been any one of these things; it might have been all. Or again; it might have been none. But… whatever it was; t'was enough to cause Eldamar to loosen the scabbard strap of Eithelhwen. Her pommel stone gave no glimmer of Darkling warning, and yet he knew there was something.

As they came closer, the little Dun cows clove their unnatural progress, moving to either side of the broad way, yet still holding regiment. The herder came on, causing the ride of Artanis and Eldamar to move asunder. As he came betwixt them, he was heard to mutter…

'Fair morrow, Master; fair morrow, Mistress.'

As he made to touch the brim of his hat, pulled hard down so they might not see his eyes; Eldamar's hand was already about the hilt of Eithelhwen. He had seen the ears of Starshadow prick. There was something amiss… Starshadow sensed it. Artanis was a little forward of Eldamar and riding to his right-most hand. Suddenly the herder turned on her; a long, thin, black Karuk dagger that had lain concealed about his scurvy smock, now clenched in his hand. As he made lunge up at Artanis's belly, Starshadow reared up, swinging to the left; laying clear the downwards sweep of Eithelhwen... the downwards sweep that sundered the hand grasping the Karuk blade a little above the wrist.

As the dreadful shriek tore at the air, Eithelhwen scribed a sweeping upwards circle and hacked down upon the swiftly uncloaking Shadow-Wraith again. Her blow took it betwixt shoulder and neck… there came a fleeting spurt of black blood as the writhing, shrieking form billowed into a stinking cloud of cloying mist. As it lay where it had tumbled onto the broad way, the severed hand, still grasping the blade slowly melted into nebulous tendrils of the same noisome fume and crept away into the scrubby verge.

Artanis sat upon her mount as if palsied. Her eyes stared wide at where the hand had lain. For there, glinting on the broad way lay a ring of metal... or, as should be told… more a circlet; or such as might be called a wristbanding. This had been worn about the wrist of the severed hand. Without a word, she made as if to dismount to gather it up. Eldamar cried;

'No! Touch not this unclean thing, for I know what this is. It is of The Darkness… it is a "Haldrig en'Seregnir"... a Witching bracelet.'

He then laid tell of what he knew of this thing. He had found mention in regard of this thing in the third volume of The Tarsius of Yeranoor. Ghlinngar the Seer had scribed therein all that was known, as a warning to those who were nescient of this thing; for he too, knew of the dreadful malignancy of these seemingly harmless trinkets.

The Haldrig en'Seregnir were the Necromancers of The Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark." Their power was unspeakable; they could raise Armies from the dead. Each wore a Bracelet such as this. T'was a Badge of Office, but it was also much more. It bestowed upon the wearer, the very essence of the baleful Dominion of Baelar.

None of these Witching Bracelets were thought to prevail after the fourth bloody engagement of what is called by name: "The Eternal Watchtower." This; the mighty, on-going battle fought betwixt The Forces of The Light and The Forces of The Darkness.

The fourth engagement of "The Eternal Watchtower" was, in the Age of The Beginnings, fought across the pristine fields of the Dream-World of Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." Here, for the first time, Baelar unleashed the Haldrig en'Seregnir, as his Nemesis of avengement. They were cut to shreds by the First Guardians of The High Goddess Elaiana... those whom She held enclasped in her Dreaming, all safe from harm in those grim fields that day. Each and every Witching Bracelet found, was destroyed, so that this malevolence might never again prowl abroad.

Eldamar made wary approach to where this Bracelet lay, glittering balefully in the dust of the broad way. Turning again to Artanis, he spoke;

'This Witching Bracelet is from out of the Abyss, and cannot be left to remain in this place. It holds a dreadful power, and was the means by which this Shade cozened the show of warning of Eithelhwen's pommel stone. My fear is; if there be, but one that remains, then there may be more. If there is truth in my fear, this evil trinket may well cloak a dreadful menace to loom upon all who stand for The Oneness of The Light. This abomination must be destroyed, but I know only of one place where it might be so done, and that place is many leagues distant from here.'

With singular care, he lifted the wristbanding with a twig, and made to wrap it about with a cloth. As it was swaddled, the carven symbols and devices besetting it round, gave forth an evil glitter. Close wrapped about, it was then immured deep in Eldamar's saddle pannier, beyond where it might wreak harm.

As they made to ride on, t'was seen that Artanis was pale and unnerved. Her fear and uncertainty stood plain in her pretty green eyes. She whispered,

'Oh, My Lord... will this never end? All this is far beyond my knowing. Will we ever again, embrace life without peril?'

Eldamar held her in solemn regard.

'It must be said, Artanis; that all the dreadfulness that you have seen, is, but a fleeting glimpse... a pale, and shadowy whisper of this maleficent banefulness that is The Darkness. How lies the future… I cannot tell, for I am 'naught but Guardian. I am no Soothsayer, but this I do know; within the circle of braziers that compass round Bradda, you shall for a time, be safe. There, you must remain for your span of carry. You must heed me in this thing, and not think to ride out the Cabal... never the once. It stands plain in my thoughts that the Wiccen Girdle of Arfeiniel is breached, for how else could these Shadow-Wraiths insinuate themselves within?'

Artanis shook her head;

'Na, Na, My Lord; there cannot be such a breach within the Enchanted Girdle, for if there was… why then, the Braziers at the Baranthyr Gate would not have fired.'

Eldamar attended her words, but a shadow prowled about his thoughts. T'was a thing in part, that Alcina had made mention, when she spoke of the losing of her bond-mate Joran at the Baranthyr Gate. She told that the span in passing gained by the Heroic stand of Joran and his Shire brothers was enough for the Enchanted Girdle of Arfeiniel to be closed so that no creature of The Darkness might gain ingress to Arfeiniel.

She declared this Enchanted Girdle was raised some three summers since passed… the span since she had lost her bond-mate. Yet, if this stood true in sum; how was it then, that a little beyond the passing of six moons' drift from waxing to waning; the Shadow-Wraiths might have breached this Enchanted Girdle… not once… but twice?

The first occurrence was the brace of shades, whose dreadful plotting to pollute the water caches on Malphaers had brought about the doom of his first companion in quest: little Feawen Arcamen; Keeper of The Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel. Though, in truth; that calamity bechanced upon the border of Arfeiniel and The Plain of Malphaers, and might not have been within the march of the Girdle. Yet, t'was close… perhaps, too close to cast aside as wary fancy. The second occurrence... what had here, now come to passing; was, for certain-sure, a breaching.

There could be, but two resolves to this ominous conundrum. Resolve the first, was that the circle of the Girdle was somewhere sundered in compass. Resolve the second, was more ominous yet. Might it be, that somewhere within the boundings of Arfeiniel there was some breach... some portal into the Underdark, mayhap, to the very Abyss itself?... some portal wherethrough the Shadow-Wraiths might creep in covert array?

Might it be that as they rode out, that soft, early autumn morn; more Shadow-Wraiths prowled, resolved to destroy this promise of The Golden Child, even as she prevailed and budded within her mother? Here then, was great need for watchfulness as they rode the last eight or so, leagues down into Bradda. Once within the compass of the brazier circle of Bradda, Artanis would be safe from all harm. Out here, in the heartlands of Arfeiniel, she was still embraced by the gravest peril. A Shadow-Wraith might cloak as any living creature; so... all must be held in regard of the deepest suspicion.

Eldamar regarded her in silence; this was what he had feared. He spoke;

'If this is the truth of it, then you are not safe in any place in this Realm. If the Girdle of Arfeiniel is secure then it can mean, but one thing. They have crafted, by black spell-casting, a portal from out of the Underdark from whence they may creep, as and when is their wont. If this is true; then all shall be in peril... for they shall strip Charas as surely as grain is stripped from ears of barley at harvest time. This is of the Old Magick, and only by the Old Magick may it be confounded. There is, but one in my knowing, who holds skill and power enough in sum to tumble this thing to its dooming. Alas, his Hall lies far into the west, beyond the Shining Lands.'

Turning again to the west, Eldamar and Artanis rode on. They rode close together now, and singularly wary. It was, as like, that there would be no other perils on this particular broad way; The Shadow-Wraiths would be watching all of the journeyways, and there were many roads and tracks into the west. So, t'would be sound to suppose that this shade, now recently despatched, would be the only one upon this ride. Yet, t'were sound wit to prosecute the last few leagues to Bradda with consummate heedfulness.