Chapter One.

"A Covenant of Opportunity."

Spring crept softly into The Delvlings in the year following the destruction of The Mordbrood of Valdarthost. The Moonflowers pushed bravely up through the last of the winter snows as the forest returned once more to its fresh, deep greening. In Calverstock, all was hustle and bustle. The Council of The Light had elected that Calverstock remain garrisoned. It stood certain-sure that, although The Mordbrood had been laid to waste; The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark " would not rest, and would invoke other terrors; though what they might be were as unknown as true remembrance of misty dreams of the night.

The Council of The Light elected to bequest Calverstock to Callam and Staisha, for it stood plain that they were besotted with each other. Staisha, it seemed, would not lead the Riders of Lothleitha again. Her shattered sword-arm was mended; but still held not her old power of dexterity with the Algethi sabre. Cuchulain, churgeon to Tristan, had resolved perhaps, it never would; and so, Staisha had announced that she would be content in company with Callam. Thus, a Bond-troth was laid; and all held pleasure in this thing.

Those Riders of Lothleitha who held the sternest of woundings elected to remain in Calverstock; as did those of the Companions of Elisriendell, who held such hurts of like measure. They too, laid Bond-troths, and thus, the settlement of Calverstock was secured. Such daughters that these bondings would manifest would take standing when they came of age, as Riders of Lothleitha in their mothers' stead.

With small need for his skills at The Halls of Eldamar; Elshore elected to remain as Forge-master, and announced he would take to full bond, his Calelindi; for he would not countenance any to have further cause to demean her as mere "Paramour." The squadron of gryphons would also lie at Calverstock. The stables were large, and there seemed thin advantage to move them far into the west.

Callam had laid full survey to the reaches of Calverstock, and held resolve that, although it was passing secure; perhaps, there was need to strengthen the compassing surround. So it was; all through that summer past, a multitude of trees were taken from out of The Delvlings, and a great Palisade wall was thrown about the Garrison. It reached some twenty and five cubits in height, with bratticing to its upper reaches. The Palisade was compassed about with hoardings, or fighting platforms, from which the archers might lay grave imposition upon such attackers without.

Eldamar had returned to his Halls with Arlanna, where they settled in true, bonded bliss. Their Bond Ritual was overseen by The Lord Laumil, Council Master of Elisriendell who had held The Halls of Eldamar in his Stewardship until Eldamar had returned from the call to arms. And, as Eldamar had surmised; his nights of the book and the pipe-leaf were now cast aside; for Arlanna had, indeed… other plans.

Marcus and Chelaine returned to the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-blue Mere. The Great Guardian sword of Marcus… Farahuine - "Hunter of Darkness"; and Chelaine's mother's Great Sword of Shandalar... "Arnsulforth," also called "Blizzard of The North," together with her mother's armour; were laid safe in the undercroft in hope that t'would be a sturdy span in reach of time before they were needed once again.

To the north; in Khallis, the pyres on the platform of The Pavilion of Silence had burned for the span of twenty moons without respite. The fallen of The Khuzud-Mahin numbered some eight hundred and three score. They were pyred in parcels of six, and the pyring would not end there. For there were the fallen of Thoris Barandors’ Thuvian long-axmen and sword-masters to be bidden farewell on their journey to Seithynnor… the Afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes, where they sat in Halls with their Forebears, and feasted forever, on red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer, all boasting their prowess at War.

The Great Mourning Beacon; full-fired, high on the brow of The Great Gorge of Khallis, stood forth bleak message so bitterly dire; and the smoke from the pyres stained the skies of Khallis for the span of the springtime. The Flower of Khallis was lost, and it would be many summers before it bloomed again.

Twenty leagues to the northerly east; behind the Redoubt of The Low Riggs of Striding Edge, lay the cairns for the fallen Shandalar warriors. There were now eight in sum. These lay circled about a great, fresh-raised Menhir, also called a Standing Stone. Cirion had commanded all would sleep in the one place. This place would ever be revered, and would be called "Londe'uial ni Eresse"... being Shandalar Algethi for "Havens of Twilight and Solitude." Here; lay the Faluan Guard, The Queen's Guard; Beckstrider's Brotherhood, and the fallen of the Shandalar Militia. Upon the great Menhir were carved the names of those fallen; and passing travellers would pause in reverent remembrance before the great stone.

In Rhom, much time was spent in toiling to renew the eastern curtain wall. Needs must; by way of the slighting cracks that progressed even to the foundations; the whole be torn down, even to a depth of twelve cubits below ground. The Stone-Masters rebuilt the whole, even to the improving of that, which Eilar The Wise had raised in the beginning. Now, it stood stout buttressed and bastioned, and it was proposed that the remaining sum of the curtain wall be so reworked. But that was for another time; for there stood now no peril, present and clear. The skies above Astalan were fresh and bright; with no ominous smoke haze polluting the blue, as it had so been, those dreadful summers before.

With The Plain of Malphaers now open, Eldamar elected that the time stood ripe for the Covenant betwixt him, and The Council of Storien-Rhudd to be prosecuted. He would ride out to seek the key to The Riddle of The Dread Imposition. This riddle, carved fair, in Charyanthe tongue upon the mighty stone tablet in the Dragon eyrie of Storien-Rhudd on the shoulder of Great Camas Mhor had been carved by Lokari… the first Dragon Lord. He had laid here the sum of the key to The Dread Imposition; in hope, that one day, this thing might be undone.

The Tongue of Charyanthe… The Dream song of Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." This lost, ancient tongue stood far back from beyond the Beginnings; far back from the dawn of the First Age of The Light. This riddle, which perhaps, if it might be unlocked; would gift the Dragons of Storien-Rhudd their freedom from The Dread Imposition laid upon them by The Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark"; and return them to their rightful form... as they had been so dreamed forth in The Great Dream of Creation. This dreadful punishment had been laid upon their forebears for daring to rise, and confound the invocation of the dreadful "Sath-Ninduru" that Baelar chose to lay forth…The dread, creeping "Night of the Shadows Rising."

Eldamar would ride out; seeking in far Astalan, the secret, green valley by name, Rhonas-Mhoir, deep in the Shire of Ardaltun. The ancient Mor-Loki; The Keeper of The Dread Imposition, had gifted him instruction specific as to where it might lie when they had last communed in Storien-Rhudd. In Rhonas-Mhoir, it was hoped; Eldamar might find the key to this thing. For anciently, standing thereby, t'was said, was a great Dolmen... being a mighty, flat stone laid upon upright ones, in manner of a great table. This Dolmen was all that remained of some ancient earthen cairn. Betwixt the upright stones pierced thus through, in manner of some Portal; at the dawning of the day, the sun softly smiled.

This, it was whispered, was no less than the portal into The Great Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana. Eldamar could stand therein, fully beset by The Dreaming of "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," and perhaps, find upon his returning, that She had smiled softly upon him, and the Charyanthe tongue would stand firm in his mind. Then, The Riddle of The Dread Imposition, carved fair upon the mighty stone tablet in the Dragon eyrie of Storien-Rhudd could be unlocked, and the Dragons would regain their true form. For, in the reading, The Dread Imposition would be fully smitten down, to bring forth the Lokis back to the Dream-form of The High Goddess Elaiana.

So it was; on the morning of the waning of the fourth moon of Eostre, Eldamar rode out of the Shining Lands on his progress to Astalan. Arlanna had petitioned him to be his companion on the quest, but, as she was now some four full moon-spans with child, he had gainsaid her stern demands. This quest was not for one in such blithesome condition; the riding would be hard, and the perils were not for the telling. It mattered not that she was a warrior of consummate prowess. It mattered not, that she laid stern altercation about him; her emerald eyes flashing. She knew full-well, that Eldamar's gainsaying stood with firm resolve. She knew full-well, there was truth and concern in his stand.

Eldamar said that when he reached Rhom, he would bid Gwythlyn make ride to his Halls to stand as companion to Arlanna in his absence. For though his household were kindly folk who would care for Arlanna as if she were their kin; a Wraith-hunter would gift the most sturdy of assurance that all would stand well in his time away from her. They bid one another their soft farewells, and Arlanna watched him ride out on Starshadow; away into the east, as she made voiceless, and tear-tumbled homage to The High Goddess Elaiana that She would hold him safely embraced in Her Dreaming.

Eldamar made sturdy progress across the wide plains of Amriath, that bright spring morning, and within the span of some six Sundial-shadows, made sight of the tall, glittering spires of the Great Crystal Castle on the Cornflower-Blue Mere, standing some five leagues to southerly-west of his ride. Much as he would have liked to pay hospitable visitation to Chelaine and Marcus; there was far to go, and the sky to the east was still bright. So he elected to ride on to Calverstock. There, he would rest, and lay in stock of victuals for the next span of his journey.

As dusk was settling, he rode up through The Delvlings in approach to the palisade gate. He saw with approving gaze, how well then, Callam had strengthened Calverstock Garrison. It was a Garrison, no more. It was now the westerly Bastion of Rhom. There would be no Darkling incursion here which did not garner the gravest imposition. Without the palisade, there lay a killing ground some eighty cubits in span, and devoid of tree or scrubbing. Further; there lay, some ten cubits beyond the palisade, a ditch, scoured to fully twenty cubits in deeping. Sprinkling the rearward sloped reveal of the ditch lay sharpened stakes driven sturdy into the slope, and laying as thick as fleas upon a wolfhound. This ditch was designed to confound the approach of scaling ladders, and cause any foe to needs must prosecute a full-frontal assault at their peril.

Eldamar made approach the gate, across the sturdy wooden bridgework that spanned the ditch. He made note of the corbelled gulleys standing forth from the bratticing above; down which, boiling oils and great rocks could be tumbled upon the heads of those below who might be employed in battering at the gate. Therein he entered and was made most welcome by his grandson Callam, and Staisha; who, in the time passing since the destruction of The Mordbrood at the Battle of Rhyddu, had joined in full bond with him.

Here too, was Elshore, now full-bonded to Calelindi; and warm greetings were laid all about. Then, they all repaired to the Great Hall, where, in future times, the Old Storyteller would lay forth the Tell from the volumes of The Tarsius of Amriath to the company there gathered about him. That though, was for times as yet, far distant in imagine.

Now, there was food and drink to be had, as Eldamar lay forth the tell of his quest. Callam called forth his Victualling Master to furnish Eldamar with such, as was his wont for the next span of his journey. This would be the progression of the pair of leagues to Rhom on the morrow, to elicit Gwythlyn's attendance to his Halls as companion to Arlanna. Thence, he would strike north across the Lorenfalu plains; bound away for the Khallis Redoubt, and the High Pass of Ling. Calelindi elected to fly out her eagle to Shandalar in tell of his coming; so that he might gather 'plenishment of such victuals he might expend as he progressed across Lorenfalu.

Lokari too, elected to fly out a gryphon to Storien-Rhudd to petition Khanis, Brood-Sire of the Eyrie of Dragons, to allow the mighty Cul-Loki, Chatka, to progress forth to Rhom. The plan laid, was thus... Chatka, the golden-red giant who had flown the great store of sacks of the Alfirin blossom from out of Yeranoor to Rhom; would be laden with supplies to be carried forth to The Plain of Malphaers. There, they would be arrayed in victualling caches spanning Malphaers, even to the borders of Astalan. Each cache would be laid at distance specific, to afford Eldamar sound renewal of his diminishing supplies; for it lay certain sure, he could not progress the five hundred leagues distance to Astalan, encumbered with victuals to span beyond the space of perhaps, five moons.

And more... there was no knowing what slim chance there was of forage when he broached Astalan. Perhaps, there would be no chance at all; for Astalan lay despoiled by The Mordbrood, and pillaged by their quartermasters, yet, but a summer since past.

The border of Astalan lay some dozen or so, moon shadow passings in journey to the east; the span of a Se'nnight, or thereabouts; and in this, the tally of caches would need to stand at a full score. Each cache would be laid some score, and five leagues distantly onwards from its kin.

In this, t'was reckoned, Eldamar would strike fresh victuals at the end of each day's ride. The first cache need stand at Windlemoss Crag; the last, on the very borders of Astalan. Further; this last cache needs must, be the most sturdy of all; for there could be no knowing the span of time it need prevail to sustain Eldamar in his questing for the secret valley of Rhonas-Mhoir, deep in the Shire of Ardaltun… wherever that might lie. Eldamar knew nothing of Astalan. T'was the homeland of his Sire, The Lord Calamar; but Eldamar had never stepped foot upon its soil. This quest would not be a simple matter.

On the morrow, Eldamar bid fond farewells to his hosts, and struck out to breach The Delvlings, thence, ride up the pair of leagues to Rhom which lay before him, serene in the morning sunshine. He was soon recognised in his approach, as the signal trumpets sang out, and Tristan rode forth to welcome his father. Tale of the Quest was laid as they rode into Rhom. Tristan insisted that Rhom furnish such support as Eldamar considered needful. A squadron of cavalry, perhaps? Eldamar declined; t'was not needful. He would take advantage in time, by riding alone.

Within the great Palace, Eldamar sought out Gwythlyn, and made his request that she ride to his Halls to stand companion to Arlanna in his absence. As they communed, there came into the chamber a youngling holding perhaps, eight full moon-spans; who crawled to Eldamar, and sat, gazing up at him with wide, serious grey eyes, as if in awe of his great beard. Then, came an Algethi maid; a little above three cubits in stature; broad in her hips, and full in the bosom; a vision of feminine fecundity.

Her hair was the paleness of the bark of a birch tree; her eyes were a steady and serious grey. Her skin held the pale, blushing bloom of a Dog rose... luminous, like the first dew of the morning. Eldamar knew her at once… Eilanna; his grandson Calamar's love. And this youngling; t'was certain sure that she was its Mother. So, this then, was his first Great-grand...? She spoke;

'Mirien; Come away!...'

Then, she regarded Eldamar and Gwythlyn, concernment upon her pretty face.

'Your pardon, My Lady; Your pardon, My Lord. She is a most vexingly curious youngling.'

Eldamar smiled;

'No need for call of pardon, Eilanna; this would be my first Great-granddaughter? And what of her naming?'

Eilanna cast her eyes down, and then looked him firm in the face, with her steady, and serious grey stare,

'T'was the choose of Calamar and I, to name her after her Great-grand-dam, and no offence meant by it.'

Eldamar smiled, a soft, and gentle smile,

'And none taken. Far from it. Her Great-grand-dam would have been proud of this thing.'

He lifted the young Mirien onto his knee, where she began to tug at his beard, and in the doing, she stole his heart away. So, it came to pass, the Circle of Amriath softly turned again, in the renewal of all things. It stood full in the reveal that this Bright Flower of The West would never succumb to The Darkness.

Soon enough, Eldamar rode out to the north, laden with victuals and water in sum enough, to stand him in ease to great Gorge of Khallis. As he progressed the far, nether reaches of the Heights of Rhyddu, overseen by the marching watchtower chain, he spied two specks in the sky standing forth from out of the north. The greater of the two moved lumberingly, ponderously; the other flew swift and low, quartering the sky all about. He smiled. T'was Chatka, the mighty Cul-Loki; and without a doubting… Tahkaiia, the Silver One, flying close sentinel; both inbound from Storien-Rhudd to Rhom in answer to Lokari's entreatments.

The soft, green pastures began thinning to sparse, coarse scrubbings as he breached the northern reaches of Lorenfalu, to progress the wastelands of Khallis. Here, as far as the eye might be laid, was a desolation of yellow and ochre; of brown, and of grey. The wastelands of Khallis... a great, silent span of hollows and ash piles, mounds of ancient mining spoil; and great heaps of rusting slag from the furnaces of Khallis. The wastelands; stretching some thirty leagues north to the Khallis Redoubt; once, infested with lurking Darklings who probed the borderlands; now, ‘naught but a desolate wilderness, as silent as the grave. Once, compassed in depth by Khuzud-Mahin patrols; and now, scarce, a bird to the air. Indeed, a most eerie, and forsaken place.

Progressing on northwards; soon, he came upon the Cairn of Donella, the young Khuzud scout killed during Caron of Shandalars’ brave, wild ride to Rhom. There, beneath the spreading boughs of the Rowan tree, softly springing to new life in its delicate greening, the young Donella lay. She had been swiftly buried by Caron's escort... the other Khuzud scout, Taeana… she, who had despatched the Horanaurk killer of her sister scout. She, who had laid the rowan spindle into Donella's heart, to confound her walking abroad, transformed into a Ranulug Gomraith... a Darkling Undead.

Eldamar reined in Starshadow, for there was a thing he had promised to do here. Donella had been cairned in lack of her sword. There had not been the time to find the same from whence it had fallen when Donella was unhorsed. Taeana had needed to ride down Caron on her wild gallop to Rhom. Whilst in Rhom, Taeana had entreated Eldamar; that, as he passed Donella's cairn, might he lay a sword into the cairn, and also gift her with a garland of Moonflower blossoms... as was custom amongst the fallen Sword-maidens of the Shining Lands; be they Algethi or Thuvian.

Eldamar had agreed to lay a Dushrakhas... the dreaded Khuzud-Mahin blade, into the cairn; for all fallen Khuzud-Mahin need be interred with a blade, lest they be denied entry into Seithynnor…the afterlife of the Thuvian Heroes where they sat in Halls with their forebears once more; and feasted forever, on red meat, and Khalmead, and strong beer; all boasting of their prowess in battle.

He gazed sadly at the cairn. 'Aye, this were a most grim, and lonesome place to sleep the last Great Sleep. He studied the Rowan. It grew fair and sturdy; a single smudge of green upon that blighted plain... this Rowan, which had grown from the spindle pierced into her heart. There too, upon the cairn still lay the wilted wreathing of Moonflowers that the pretty Faluan Lieutenant Nindelen had laid forth, 'ere she rode on to embrace ‘naught, but a dreadful, gruesome death at the Siege of Rhom. He knelt to the cairn and carefully began to shift the stones.

Donella had been cairned, as are all the fallen sword-maidens cairned… with her head to the east, and her feet to the west. Eldamar sadly gazed upon the shrunken, mouldering body. She had held scarcely, ten and six summers. Such promise of what she might have been, snuffed out like a candle flame; her youth and beauty snatched from her in one brief moment of time. He gently laid the Dushrakhas upon her body, resting her shrivelled, claw-like hands about the hilt, with the sword-tip at her feet; and laid the garland of Moonflower blossoms upon her brow, now gaunt with mortification. He mused sadly; how soon the bloom of beauty and youth will fade, as a rainbow will fade... as if it had never been. Such waste, gifted careless by fickle fate... and no sense here to be found.

He began to re-lay the stones, carefully… and with due reverence, until the cairn stood once more in completeness. He mounted Starshadow, and turned him into the north, to ride onwards. Glancing back at the cairn, he murmured;

'Sleep you safe, Little One.'

Then, turning again, heavy of heart; he spurred Starshadow on, deeper into the wastelands of Khallis.

Ten leagues farther to the north, Eldamar knew that hereabouts, was Caron of Shandalar arrow-struck on her desperate ride to Rhom. Caution here, needs must be the watchword. Thus, he progressed, singularly alert… but there was nothing; not a movement, not a stirring. Nothing but the whimper of the wind that tormented and swirled the ash into the air; seeming to mock him for his prudence. Soon enough, he would strike the Great Gorge of Khallis, and the echoing cliffs of the Khallis Redoubt.

There! Hazing the sky; the smoke hanging above Khallis, all tainting the blue. The pyre on the Pavilion of Silence still burned! Close on a score of moons in passing, and still, it burned. Eldamar knew the losses of Khallis were grievous, but this… Then, he spied the Great Mourning Beacon, full fired; high on the brow of the Great Gorge of Khallis. It stood forth in bleak message to his view. He had thought to make visitation to Thoris Barandor, the newly-settled Lord of The Clan Buhrodar; but chose now, to ride on to Shandalar, and not intrude upon the Sacred Khallis Lamentation Rituals.

Twenty Leagues more, with the sun swift-lowering in the western skies; Starshadow made stern progress up the High Pass of Ling. The thunder of his leissor-shod gallop echoed the towering rock ramparts. He sped onwards, with the shadows rising up from the floor of the Pass as the paling sun softly sank to her sleeping in the west. The shadows crept up the rock rampart walls; mingling soft... as the lowering sun cast her dying rays across the towering heights of the Pass.

From the highest reach of the cliff-face; slowly, the light faded from golden to crimson; to purple; then deepened to indigo; until all was beset in darkening shadow, and 'naught, but the furthest reaches of the towering cliffs were still kissed by the goldening glow of sunset. Yet still, Starshadow would not ease pace as he thundered up the Pass... galloping as only a Unicorn can gallop; ever certain, ever sure.

Soon, the Great Redoubt of the Low Riggs of Striding Edge came to view, beset with brightly flaring links. The clear note of a signal horn echoed the shadows. The sentries had spied the Lord Guardian galloping the Pass. They had attended for two moons, his coming. Cirion… Queen Cirion herself had taken quarters in the Redoubt, awaiting the arrival of her grandfather, in accord with the despatch flown to Shandalar by the great eagle of Calelindi, from out of Calverstock. There came from within the Redoubt, the singing of chains strained by great capstans being ratcheted about, and the mighty, Iron-sheathed gates began to open to afford Eldamar safe passage therein.

As he entered, he beheld a most welcoming sight; for there stood Cirion, Ice Queen of Shandalar, in breeches, boots and jerkin; as beautiful as ever. Eldamar dismounted Starshadow, and she ran to him... as would a youngling; throwing her arms about him, her eyes bright with welcome. Eldamar gifted her a great embosoming hug. She was ever his favourite. Sensing her advantage, Cirion entreated of him to repair to the Citadel of Shandalar, to take of refreshment and comfort. Ruefully he gainsaid her. She then elected to lay sturdy support of troopers on his easterly quest; yet again, he gainsaid her. He saw her mothers' humour manifest in her face; he watched her vexation flit about her… then, he smiled.

'Chastise me not, Little One; I know you ever have my easement in your heart. In truth, I would take choose of your presentment, for I could value the companionship. T'is though, a pretty distance I needs-must travel, and I will journey swifter in my own company.'

He saw the stubborn will of her mother prowl about her for a while; and so, he hugged her again, and smiled into those beautiful sky-blue, Agate eyes. And slowly, she seemed to surrender to his will.

'Grandfather, you exasperate, and vex me to excess on occasion. You are without doubt, the most contumacious grandfather a maid could ever be gifted with!'

Eldamar laughed;

'That; Child, is because t'is the truth of it that we are alike as two peas in a pod; you and I.'

Cirion gifted him the slimmest of smiles; a smile that was not mirrored in her gaze. Such a smile as spoke plain of the vexation still prowling within; and her lips were couched in a petulant pout. Eldamar thought, how like, was her humour to her mothers'; and elected to prosecute fully such advantage he might garner, saying,

'An the wind shifts; t'is as like, that you shall abide with such countenance, Child.'

As he wagered; Cirion, upon hearing this, sudden flared,

'Think not to call me Child, grandfather… and admonish me not, in manner of my mother!'

Eldamar gifted her a stare contrived to appear downcast and sore-wounded. Seeing this woefulness, Cirion's countenance changed; concern and shame standing plain in her eyes. Why, this was her grandfather she spoke to thus; he, whom she had loved for all of her life. Then, she saw the slow, wry smile appear on his face. Her petulance faded, as will dew in the sun.

'Why, grandfather; shame upon you, for you are wilfully cozening me, I think!'

Eldamar answered,

'Aye, t'is the truthing; for though you are beautiful when you are vexed, you are even more so, when you are not; and I would take such remembrance of you, and wrap it about me in manner of a winter cloak as I journey to eastward. For t'is certain-sure, there will be small store of beauty about the borderlands of Astalan, as I progress therethrough.'

Cirion, off-guarded by this eloquent diversion, suddenly smiled; a beautiful smile, and spoke,

'Grandfather, Shame upon you once again. This is an unjust advantage; for you were ever able to dazzle with your facile, silver-speeched tongue. How may I prevail with my disputation, when you lay siege to my womanly vanity, so?

Eldamar laughed,

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

'La, Little One, your defence is breached! An' you would not further slight the Royal Dignity; you will fence with me no longer!'

Then, arms about each other's waists, grandfather and granddaughter entered into the guardroom of the great Redoubt, to the amaze of the guards; who saw plain, a face of their Queen they had never imagined. Here, before them, a beautiful young, laughing maid, as like any other they might see; and not the remote Majesty of the Great Citadel of Shandalar.

Cirion made hard demand of Eldamar, that he, at least, take a sturdy cooked meal with them, and tarry that night in a warm bed, before his journey onwards. And in this, Eldamar saw, in the stand of her resolve; t'would be most singularly imprudent for him to gainsay her in this matter. Thus, Eldamar spent the first night of his quest embraced in the hospitality of Shandalar. Perhaps, t'would be the last night of comfort he would enjoy for a sturdy span of time passing as he progressed the reaches of The Plain of Malphaers.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Eldamar, now freshly provisioned, bade farewell to Cirion, and rode out on Starshadow to ride the upper reaches of the High Pass of Ling. At length, he reached the killing grounds in approach to the Throat of Ling, where the dreadful destruction of Mordbrood and Algethi; of Suhai and Thuvian, had come to passing.

There was little to betray what had happened here; a few rusting Kelek-Berskers, a scattering of charred bones... little to lay the tale of the slaughter that befell this place. All was silent. Here and there, as Eldamar passed by; a parcel of carrion birds rose chattering in their displeasure, as they forsook their peck and worry of some mouldering carcass forgotten and overlooked in the pyre gathering. There was little to betray that some eight thousand Darklings, and close on sixteen-hundred Algethi and Thuvians had embraced their destruction in this place.

Farther on, there came the first betrayal of this thing. Here, was the remain of the great Darkling pyre that had burned the span of three full turns of Sundial shadows in the very throat of the High Pass of Ling, denying the Horanaurk Host their progression west in those first bitter days of the battle. Here, the charred bones and ashes lay thickly about. And there!... the iron rings driven into the rock face where the Horanaurk torturers had chained and despoiled the abducted Faluan Maids, to lure the Faluan Guard Captain, Laurre Aldaval… the brave, reckless Laurre, to her doom.

But a thin measure of distance further to the east, there stood the cairn where Laurre, and her young FionnMhor Captain of Guard who had embraced his doom wildly galloping to her aid; now shared the long, and silent sleep together. From this place, a little further towards The Plain of Malphaers; overseen by the slighted and tumbled ruin of the High Watchtower of Ling, the signs of the slaughter lay all about. Here, lay rusting blade and armour; the bestrewing of countless bones; the shrunken, charcoaled remains and ashes of Horanaurks embraced in the dreadful, searing flume of the Dragons.

A small step beyond; without the Old Quarry of Senghenn where Cirion had invoked the Dread Shamel of Lorienlief and brought down the wrath of The High Goddess Elaiana upon the heads of The Mordbrood vermin; were the grisly remains of those trampled in the dreadful blind rout of the stricken Horanaurks. The carcasses were trampled to the thickness of parchment, and lay clingingly to the ground. The taint of corruption had yet to moulder them fully away, and the carrion birds could gain small purchase upon them, pressed as they were, into the downtrodden rocky soil. In parts, the very rock walls were scored with the frantic clawings of countless Horanaurk fingernails, as they had tried to prosecute escape from this place. The stench of death lingered all about; and Eldamar hastened his pace, to be rid of this foulsome killing ground.

He gazed about this place of desolation. All about him was the trace of tell of what had happened here. It needed no sharpness of eye; it needed no stern set of the imagination to vision the dreadful carnage that had manifested here, in this place. Here; the blinded, and terrified Mordbrood had embraced their dreadful dooming, as they burst out of the Throat of Ling seeking to escape the terrible, burning white light that had boiled, and melted their eyes out of their heads, even to the last one.

It stood, simple-plain to imagine the naked terror, as they scrambled for the safety of The Plain of Malphaers, and found only the yawning chasm that had opened before them... the chasm, where there had been no chasm but a handful of Sundial-shadows since passed. The chasm into which they rushed headlong, or were swept therein by the rearward crush, until all had whirled screaming, to their doom in the depths below.

Eldamar gave a small shudder; the like as if, a grey goose had, at that moment, flown over his grave. This was no place to linger. He turned Starshadow to easterly, and rode out onto the wide Plain of Malphaers. There was little to show what had happened out on the Plain. A few Kelek-Berskers lay scattered, and beginning to rust; but of the chasm wherein The Mordbrood had tumbled to their dreadful dooming; there was not a sign. The Plain of Malphaers stretched, silent, minacious, and empty. Nothing there moved, save the spinnings of dust, tugged by the whimpering winds that always prowled this empty land.

Eldamar rode on towards Windlemoss; the lower reaches of the Shandalar Ice Mountains guarding his flank as he progressed the twenty-odd leagues to the tumbled remains of the Windlemoss Crag fort. On his right hand, the great rift chasm began to yawn open. This would stretch now, to the very borders of Astalan, but he needs must keep it to his rightmost hand. Soon enough, there would be no means to cross over, and the provision caches would be upon the leftmost side of the great rift.

As he made approach to the tumbled ruination that was the old fort, entombed as it was, by the dropping of Windlemoss crag upon it… brought about by Beckstrider's bold gambit; his nose was greatly offended by the stink that lay about that place. Carefully guiding Starshadow around the edge of the rock tumble, he glanced into the chasm. The depths squirmed and writhed; choked by rotting and wormy, maggot-infested Horanaurk carcasses. All those Mordbrood who had perished in the assault had been tumbled therein and now lay, bloated and stinking, in the shadowy depths below. For here, the sun could not progress, and so, the carcasses embraced their corruption slowly. The whole stinking morass was beset by swarming flies that blackened the heaving slime.

Eldamar shuddered and turned away. There!... A parchment nailed to a stake, driven firm at the edge of the causeway. T'was a message from Lokari. He wrote that the provision cache had been raised some three leagues to the east, so that the swarming flies would not taint the cache with their crawling. Eldamar rode on, well pleased to be free of that gruesome place. As the causeway progressed, and widened; as the lower reaches of the Hills of Tillethmhor began to rise out from the diminishing rock face of Windlemoss Vale. The Hills of Tillethmhor would flank his journey to the very borders of Astalan. What they might hold was not for the knowing.

As he progressed the first league, the stink still offended his nose. But, it came not from the chasm. It came from Horanaurk carcasses sprinkled and sprawling about the nether reaches of the causeway, and in the scrub that clung to the subordinate slopes of the Hills of Tillethmhor. This was the harvest of Mordbrood so misfortunate to be struck by Beckstrider's flights of arrows polluted with the festering spoil of the long-since abandoned latrine trenches of Windlemoss fort... for, if so struck; there would have been no hope of drawing such an arrow. The arrows of FionnMhor were viciously deep-barbed, and even if they were drawn, there was no hope of aid. The Mordbrood did not foray with 'pothick or churgeon. If those, sorely wounded, could not fight; then, they were held fully expendable. It stood plain, that if they had not embraced their doom in the slenderest of spans, then their end had been dreadful and lingering. For Eldamar had seen the blight of the terrible, creeping Green Rot upon them.

The Dreaded Green Rot. The most feared of all battlefield misfortunes; eight times in ten, as a result of a polluted wound. Those who fell victim to such wounding, perhaps… two times in ten; stood prevailed upon by clenching of teeth, as stern as a smithy's vice; and of an ague of raging fever. In the span of a Se'nnight, were he sturdy; the misfortunate one might well prevail. It was not ever thus, when the Green Rot embraced them complete. Here too, was the burning feverish ague, but there was no clenching of teeth, as stern as a smithy's vice.

Here, at the first, was all about the wound… a redness that pained with throb and swell... as like, a bee-sting. Then would come creeping about the wound, the vile yellowness of hue which slowly turned to a loathsome green, and laid forth a foul, and retchworthy stench. With this, came the pain... a shrieking pain; as great swellings of foul wetness grew under the skin which now turned black, and burst asunder. The flesh died, and rotted upon the bone, whilst yet, the victim lived. Slowly, the corruption would creep, laying forth the foulest stench, until the victim perished, embraced in the clutch of the most desperate, screaming agony. This then, was The Green Rot.

Here, and there; some Horanaurks so stricken; had, when at last, they could no longer abide the screeching agony of feeling their rotting flesh sloughing from their bones, laid a blade across their own throats to gain release from their torment. So festering and putrid were the carcasses, even the carrion birds had gainsaid them. Their only companions were the fat and pale maggots that had made the stinking carcasses their abode.

Eldamar regarded them, a kerchief to his nose, and something like pity in his eyes. Horanaurk vermin or not; no creature should have to perish in this loathsome manner. Beckstrider's gambit had prevailed beyond the wildest imaginations of night terrors. So, war had come to this; this dreadful creeping doom, stealthily unleashed; and not the face-to-face combat of his fighting days. Suddenly, Eldamar felt old… old and dispirited. There was small sum in this, for minstrel tale weaving.

Eldamar rode on, seeking out the first of the provision caches. He was troubled by what he had seen in the foothills of Tillethmhor... this dreadful harvest of the Green Rot. This thing had been unleashed by one of the warriors of The Light… Beckstrider... Thallian Beckstrider; sword-brother of old, and leader of The Brotherhood of FionnMhor; who was said to have been held safe in the arms of The High Goddess Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," on that dreadful day of the assault on the old fort of Windlemoss Crag. Were this the case; then the gambit of Beckstrider… to pollute his arrows with the spoil of the festering latrine trenches, must have been, in part, invoked from the Dreaming of Elaiana. If this fact were laid with what Eldamar had seen at Rhyddu; and then, again, with the tell of Cirion, of what had manifested in the Old Quarry of Senghenn when she had invoked the Dread Shamel of Lorienlief… this terrible, and merciless destruction laid upon The Mordbrood; then it could mean, but, one thing. All that was held as true; all that had ever been believed, stood now, in dispute.

T'would seem that The High Goddess Elaiana… "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being"… She, who was the sum of all Goodness, of all compassion, and of all truth; stood now in reveal of a countenance unthinkable... that of a vengeful, and merciless Goddess who would lay destruction complete, upon those whom She so chose. Such a countenance would be as might be seen in a Looking glass... the same, yet the opposite. As like, the difference betwixt a left-handed, and a right-handed bow... the same, and yet, not the same. Perhaps, even... Elaiana and The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," were one in the same. Yet, this was a thought that must never be contemplated.

Perhaps, the alliance of those who stood furthest from The Light had diminished The Oneness of The Light. Might it be that such alliances might have laid change to the balance of The Light? Might it be that, alliance with the Shadaiian Wraith Hunters, who were, in truth, ‘naught less than assassin Algethi that Eldamar held in the same regard as he would, say… an unguarded sword blade, left careless, within reach of a youngling... or again, alliance with the dread, Nemesis of Lothluthil, who, although, being Guardians to The High Goddess Elaiana, were still close to being Half-Shalodea; had somehow diminished The Oneness of The Light?

For though, both were indeed, creatures of The Light… The Light stood not so brightly about the Shadaiians, in manner the same as it stood not so brightly about the Nemesis of Lothluthil. Both were from out of that shadowy place that lay somewhere, betwixt The Light and The Darkness. But, they were then, both of equal standing and weight, in the prosecution of the dooming of The Forces of Darkness. Yet, firm with the knowing of this, even so; a shadow of unease prowled softly, about the mind of Eldamar; and he wondered, what here, might have been unleashed in the name of The Oneness of The Light, and in the Matter of Amriath.

He reached the first of the provision caches within the space of one Sundial shadow-span. Lokari had laid it well, as if t'were a cairn… stout buttressed about with stones. Therein, were four leathern water pouches, each bearing the Seal of Rhom; each holding some eight sesters of the efficacious, leissor-infused well water of Rhom; and diverse victuals for both Eldamar and Starshadow. Here, they would rest for the night. The sun was lowering in the west, and there was no virtue in progressing forward in the swiftly gathering dusk.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Refreshed from his slumber, and less troubled by what he had seen, Eldamar made good his travelling provisions. He gave Starshadow to drink of the remainder of the water, less one pouch; and turned once more to easterly. It would be some thirty-odd leagues to the next provision cache; a lonesome, yet easy progress. He had laid in passing, perhaps, of a dozen leagues, when Starshadow suddenly halted, and gazed back towards the west. Eldamar turned in saddle and peered towards where Starshadow was watching, with his ears pricked, and his eyes watchful. There!… A slender plume of dust far behind to the west. A plume of dust as would be made by a rider galloping hard. Close on twenty, and five leagues to rearward, but seeming to be following Eldamar's tracks.

This was conundrum indeed… perhaps, a perilous conundrum; for none would be following who were comrades. Then who would it be? ... Or, what would it be? Eldamar knew full well that The Darkness, though confounded for now, would not rest easy. The knowing of his quest was most certain-sure. Might this be some Shadow-Wraith, or Baelar'enin, cloaked by The Dreadful, Dark Entity: Baelar; as if it were some credible traveller; and sent to confound Eldamar's endeavour?

He glanced at the hilt of his great sword, "Eitheltuil Eledhwen," in short; spoke... "Eithelhwen"..."Wellspring of Algethi Light," bepommelled with Crystal, and carved, as like, a Star. There was no sign of flickering light there in the pommel-stone as there would have been, were the far distant rider of Darkling breed. For these Swords of The Light sensed such Darkling presence at sturdy distance, and warned with flash and glitter in the depths of their pommel-stones. Here, there was none, but… t'would be wise to keep a watchful eye upon such a progression.

As the morning drifted, with the sum of Sundial shadows gathering, Eldamar rode on. As he progressed east, the span of Plain betwixt the Great Rift of Malphaers, and the foothills of Tillethmhor became broader, until there was close, half-a-league, one from the other. On occasion, Eldamar made glance behindwards. The plume of dust still stood in trailment, but seemed not to have advanced in sum. In this, there lay no wonderment. Starshadow, at easy canter, was more than equal in pace to any horse in Amriath... even to the swiftest Rhola war stallion, driven at full gallop.

So it continued thus, day by day; with Eldamar accomplishing the stand of some thirty leagues at easy pace, from victual cairn to victual cairn, with the plume of dust standing much the same distance behind him. Then; on the sixth day, as he provisioned from the victual cairn and gave Starshadow to drink; he happened to glance into the west. There stood a surprise; stern in its singularness. The plume of dust had now spawned at its base, a dark speck. This rider had gathered in advantage, some ten leagues. Eldamar measured, that if the rider progressed at such pace; then, an intercept might well be accomplished in the span of perhaps, two full moon-shadows. He thought to quicken his pace, but there was still far to travel. There stood yet, some three-hundred leagues to the borders of Astalan. He resolved to hold his pace, and wait upon what might prevail. For now, anything might be expected, and he stood ready.

The trailment continued all through that day, with the imagine that, perhaps, the dark speck was gathering in stature. If this were not some trick of the light, then the rider's mount must be some singularly uncommon creature. The crystal pommel-stone of "Eithelhwen" still gave no sign of warning. This was conundrum indeed, and Eldamar was beset by disquietude, tempered soft, with curiosity. If the rider progressed at a like pace, t'was as like, this rider would prevail upon him in something less than the full turning of a Sundial, and the span of a moon-shadow.

Suddenly, from out of the corner of his eye, Eldamar glimpsed a movement in the hills. Was this some ambuscade laid by The Darklings? Starshadow had seen it too; he held the hills in his sighting, as for his part, he chose to lengthen his pace. There!… Again; four shadows upon the hill… four horsemen riding east, seeming to keep pace with Eldamar; flitting in and out of sight. Eldamar reached down and slipped off the scabbard strap of "Eithelhwen" in readiness. Yet still, she gave no warning. A little beyond five leagues to the next provision cairn… t'was as good a place as any to make a stand, if it should come to that. At least his back might be protected by the stout pile of rocks. He glanced to rearwards; the dark speck was now standing plain as a rider; too far distant to make any recognition, but plain enough to know that he came this way.

Were that not enough; now, the span of Plain betwixt the Hills of Tillethmhor and the Great Rift of Malphaers began to narrow once more. This smelled like entrapment… the lie of the land was 'nigh perfect for entrapment. The hills began to clamber steeper and steeper to his left-most hand; the great rift began to creep closer and closer to his right. The hills became a rock face; the rock face became a towering cliff.

There, at last, was the provision cairn. By now, Starshadow was exceedingly uneasy, his ears were pricked and erect, and he cast about with a watchful stare. The span of the Plain was now little more than twenty cubits betwixt cliff and chasm. Here, was where it would happen… if anything were to happen. Suddenly, Starshadow stood firm from his canter and halted, the dust all billowing about. There! a quarter-league forwardly, waited the four horsemen. They waited, unmoving.

Each horseman was garbed in cloak and cowl. Each cloak and cowl was of a different hue, being of the same hue as the horse each rider sat upon. The first horseman was garbed in white, and sat upon a white horse. The second horseman was garbed in red, and sat upon a red horse. The third horseman was garbed in black, and sat upon a black horse. The fourth horseman was garbed in grey, and sat upon a grey horse. Their faces 'neath their cowls were, but dark shadows; but their eyes shone fiery from out of those shadows. They waited, unmoving and silent.

Eldamar sat and watched them; his hand to the hilt of his mighty Guardian sword "Eitheltuil Eledhwen"… "Wellspring of Algethi Light." Still, she gave no warning... not that any were needed; but; if not Darkling… then what were these horsemen?

'My Lord Guardian; Behold before you The Riders of Doom.'

Spoke a soft voice behind him.

Eldamar swiftly turned, "Eithelhwen" drawn and poised to strike, and there stood the dark rider. He studied the figure before him in disbelief… t’was a woman. She stood some three, and one-half cubits, and held some score, and five summers upon her. She was clad in leathern tunic and breeches, beset with a deep riding cloak dusted from her progress across The Plain of Malphaers. She slipped the hood of her cloak back, and her hair tumbled down; silken, and blue-black as a raven's wing. She studied him with great black eyes. Her mount was a mighty stallion of a breed not known to Eldamar. She spoke again,

'My Lord Guardian; I am Feawen Arcamen, Keeper of The Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel. Your enchantments hold no sway in this place, and before you, stand the Four Riders of Doom, War, Famine, and Pestilence. They are recently out of Astalan in seek of fresh quarry. T’is by ‘naught else, but my enchantments that they have not yet taken you.'

Eldamar regarded her with deepest suspicion. How did this maid know of his ride? How could she have gathered the sum of twenty Leagues in so slim a span of time? There must be some sorcery in this… but, by whom? And to what end? His ponder was thrust aside, as she spoke again;

'The Sorceress Shahran, of Penvallanar saw you stand forth on your quest in her Glass of Revealment, and she also saw the coming of The Riders of Doom. Word was sent to me to watch over your progress, for this is my homeland that you now compass.'

Eldamar spoke,

'How then, came you from far behind me? For I have noted your trailment for five moons in passing.'

Feawen Arcamen made reply,

'I have shadowed the Riders of Doom all along the flanks of the Hills of Tillethmhor since they rode into Arfeiniel, these ten moons since passed. I shadowed them to Windlemoss, and watched them turn about as they spied you. I knew you from the tell of Shahran; my Lord Eldamar, Guardian of The Light; and have ridden hard in intercept before they fell upon you.'

'Aye;'

Said Eldamar.

'Most singularly hard to outstrip Starshadow. What breed is your mount? For I know not of any horse to outrun a Unicorn.'

She smiled,

'He is a North Erinthorean Cordach Crossling; stout of heart, and sturdy in wind. He scarcely broke sweat in my ride to catch you. But, we squander our time in this; we needs- must lay these creatures by the heels.'

Eldamar turned, as if to make step towards these four horsemen; his great sword "Eithelhwen," at the ready. She caught his arm, saying,

'Nay; your enchantments hold no sway in this place; you cannot prevail in this thing. These Shades are not of this world. They stand neither for The Light, ‘nor for The Darkness... they are from some other place, but I know not wherefrom.'

She made dismount, and stepped towards where they sat upon their horses, silent and unmoving. Casting a backward glance to Eldamar, she spoke softly,

'No matter what might now be manifest; look not into the faces of the Riders, 'else your Charas be forever forfeit, and shall never prevail in hearing the soft song of Sathulinan. These beings prowl our world, and the world of Men, gathering the Charas of Algethi-kind, and the souls of Men; as like a squirrel gathers acorns in the golden span of autumn.'

Then, turning again to face the horsemen, she cast about herself with her arm... as if she were sowing grain. A soft, golden glow crept about her, her mount; Eldamar and Starshadow, and compassed all about the provision cairn, until they stood within a perfect circle of golden light. Then Feawen faced the four horsemen, and spoke in a clear, and bell-like voice,

'Horsemen, whose names are never to be known… are never to be spoken. The Great Mother has laid the knowing upon me. Stand to me now, you who are called by name... Kaspar.'

Beneath the deep cowl that shadowed complete, such countenance that he might possess; the fiery eyes of the Red Horseman blazed brighter, and he lunged forward; gifting a bone-chilling snarl at the impudence of Feawen's reveal. This dreadful Red Rider had accomplished perhaps, thirty cubits towards her, when Feawen raised her hand in refute of his progress. She spoke again; her voice still clear, and bell-like, but now cold-edged and commanding.

'Kaspar, you are known here for whom you are. You are the Harbinger of Destruction. You are known to me, as I am known to you. There is nothing in this place for you. The Lord Guardian is embraced in the arms of The Great Mother, as am I; and none here for the taking. I command you; get you back from whence you came.'

No sooner had the words fallen from her lips, than a dreadful keening howl arose from the Horsemen... a howl to make blood run cold. They spurred mount, and swept down upon Eldamar and Feawen. She turned, and clung to Eldamar, burying her face in his chest, and pulling his face down into her shoulder. Her hair smelled of honeysuckle. She whispered; her voice strained with fear...'Look not into their faces; if nothing else… look not into their faces.'

And then, the horsemen were upon them; swirling about the circle of golden light; their shadowed faces beneath the deep cowls gathering form... their eyes fiery and evil. With their ears filled with the whinny and snorting of the Riders' horses, Eldamar and Feawen clung together. The Riders' horses reared all about the outer reach of the golden circle; pawing the air about their heads with flailing, iron-shod hooves; then clattering about without the circle, filling the air with hoof-struck sparkings. On and on, round, and round about… the dreadfulness seemed to last forever, as Eldamar and Feawen clung to one other, daring not to raise their heads, less one of them chanced to look upon a Rider's dreadful countenance and be taken. But the circle of golden light prevailed all about them. Strive as they might, the Dreadful Riders could not breach the golden circle. Then, suddenly... they were gone; and this, the plain, unbridled truth of it... suddenly, they were gone; as if they had never been.

Eldamar and Feawen clung together for a while, as the circle of golden light softly faded. Then, Feawen lifted her head and looked into his face, saying,

'It is passed. They are not for the returning; they have gone into another place.'

She held his gaze a while longer, then, crinkled her pretty nose...

'Faugh! The stink of Malphaers, and that of fear-swelter hangs about us like a pauper's cloak. Gather such provisions as are needful, and let us repair to a place I know where there is a sweet pool where we may bathe, and wash clean our garments; for we stink like a midden in summer; you and I.'

Eldamar smiled ruefully,

'Aye, that is the certain truth.'

But, as he looked into those black eyes; for the span of a pair of heartbeats, he imagined he saw something other than wit, swiftly cloaked... or perhaps, he did not; for there was small sum to read in those dark pools. Perhaps, it was a lingering echo of fear of what had manifested here; perhaps, it was something else. Eldamar chose to cast it aside. He was much beholden to this pretty Wiccen Priestess. There was small doubt that, without her timely intrusion, he might well have embraced his dooming in this place; for as she had said; here… his enchantments stood as stout as a barley-straw in a tempest, in this matter.

Having provisioned himself with victuals for the next span of his quest, and having shared with her, and her mount, the sum of the water; Eldamar and his fresh-gained companion moved on to the east. Within the space of a league, she showed him a slender cleft in the towering cliff, deeply shadowed, and scarce-wide enough in span for rider and mount to progress. This was the pathway to the pool she had spoken of. Herein they entered. Within little more than half a league the slender cleft opened into a soft valley, lush and green. T'was hard to believe that the dry, and wind-blown dustings on The Plain of Malphaers stood such a meagre span of ride behind them.

Before them, they beheld a stand of willows; their soft leaves rustling and turning, and showing their delicate silver in the gentle breeze. And here, was a gently tumbling, crystal stream. Just where it forsook the willows, the stream formed a tranquil pool, shoulder-deep. Here, it was cool and shady. Feawen drew in rein where the lush green turf fell softly to the edge of the calm, azure pool. Eldamar made dismount, and loosed Starshadow to drink. He was standing with his shoulder close by the flank of her steed, staring at the pool, when he felt her gazing down upon him.

'Do you hope to escape me in your ponder; my Lord Guardian?'

Eldamar looked at her,

'Nay, I was thinking of another blue pool such as this, far away into the west.'

She held out her arms to him, and he swung her down out of the saddle. Again, she crinkled her nose,

'Indeed we do stink, My Lord.'

Eldamar grinned;

'Aye, but no fault of ours, in the event.'

She smiled, and her eyes were bright.

'It were; if we were not to shed our travel-soiled and fusty garb and go a'bathing in yonder pool.'

He saw a bead or two of sweat upon her brow, which she swiftly brushed away. It was warm in that sun-dappled glade… but not that warm. Her eyes were very bright, and then…

'If you would avert your gaze, I would join you a'bathing, My Lord Eldamar.'

He did as she commanded; for it was a command, and not a behest. Eldamar turned from her and walked to the water's edge, his eyes on the cool, shadowed pool and his thoughts on her eyes. Then, to his left, there came a flash of white, and a splashing. Then, a shimmer of her below the water, and she broke the rippled surface; her black hair all wet, and her eyes bright and laughing.

'Come in,'

She laughed,

'T'is wondrous cool; come in, My Lord.'

Eldamar replied,

'Would I could; but pray forgive me, for I have no skill for swimming, I fear.'

She laughed again,

'T'is not overly deep; yet were it so, I should rescue you; for I have mind of a sweeter fate than drowning for you, My Lord Eldamar.'

Eldamar, taken aback at this, would have turned away as he stepped out of his drawers; for her eyes were bold and hot upon him. But he did not. He knew by the look in her eyes that he should not. Instead, he stepped out of his garments whilst facing her, and walked into the pool.

They sported for a little beyond the span of half of a Sundial-shadow, then Eldamar called a halt to this thing, and walked out of the pool, turning to watch her follow. She came out of the pool, all pert-bosomed; her skin, firm and pale as marble; and slender of frame. She laid no require for him to avert his eyes this time. Yet, he dropped them, all the same.

'You may gaze upon me 'an you would choose so to do,'

She said; and so he did, feeling his body begin to stir, and rise in betrayal of him; for she was a most beautiful creature. She smiled softly,

'You find me to your liking, I see.'

Eldamar looked into her eyes… eyes that were now hot and bright. Her smile was soft, and seductive as sin. He gazed at her, saying,

'What would you have of me?'

She laughed again,

'La; you are no Gelding, this is plain to see before my eyes… and I had thought you no fool either.'

He grasped her by the shoulders… her soft, wet, white shoulders. 'I am no fool, as well you know; and you are no wanton... though your smile would have me think it so. And so, what would you have of me?'

Her black eyes were now serious and steady, and reproving…

'If you are no fool,' she said very softly, 'You will palter with me no longer, My Lord Guardian.'

And so, he did not; for he read plain in her eyes that he was doubtless damned if he did, and was most certainly damned if he did not. That somehow, the sum of prevailment of this quest stood or fell on the consequence of bestowing upon her, this act of wanton swive that was most certainly her expectation of him. He reached out his hands and seized upon the soft, warm whiteness of her.

All the while, he looked in her face. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her little sharp teeth worried her nether lip as if she were being put to the torture. Little mews and whimpers escaped her lips as she surged lissomely, and thrust her hips up to meet him. But there was no love trysting in this; this was naked lust on her part, and there was some hidden reason in this thing. Her legs entwined about him, entrapping him in the tyranny of her wantonness; arching, thrusting with her hips, as she led him in this most ancient, and sweetest of dances.

Feeling his need becoming swiftly more pressing, she gathered his pace to hers, and drew him onwards to their sweet, consensual doom; the doom which burst upon them, just as she had hoped it would; her nails raking his back; sweet, soft squeals and whimpers escaping her trembling lips, as she felt him consummate her desire.

At length, as they lay spent, in the sweet-smelling grass beneath the shading willows, she traced a finger about his chest, whispering,

'Did I not tell you true? Am I not wanton, My Lord?'

Eldamar gazed at her,

'Aye, wanton, but to what purpose? For methinks, t'is not in your nature to be strumpet, Feawen Arcamen… even though you would have me think it so.'

She smiled; a soft, and languorous smile, and stretched her comely and slender body; as does a cat in the sun.

'You have me, My Lord; for indeed there is pressing need. Let us call it a "Covenant of Opportunity." You seek the Dolmen of Rhonas-Mhoir, but you cannot pass through it… no male can, unless in company of a female. I am Keeper of The Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel, and this settlement of Office spans, but ten, and five summers, then must be passed down, mother to daughter; as it was to me, by my mother in her turn. I am in my fifth summer of Office, and needs-must bear a daughter. Yet, since the Mordbrood rout of Astalan, there are no males for close a hundred leagues all about. All made good their legs or were slaughtered to the last one. And now… You and I, we have made a most beautiful daughter, this day.'

Eldamar gazed at her,

'So that is the way of it… a Covenant of Opportunity? I have heard it called many things, but never that.'

She smiled, a soft and winsome smile,

'Chide me not, my Lord Guardian, for cloaking my intent; for I could not choose a better Sire for my daughter if I winnowed the whole of the Eastern Realms.'

Then she turned to him, and pressed herself close; her pert breasts soft against his chest. He felt his body stirring, as it resolved to betray him, yet again. She gifted him a soft and shameless smile:

'La; I see your sate has decamped away, My Lord; how then, shall we squander the time while our garments dry in the sun?'

And with her eyes dark, and sparkling in their wantonness; she reached for him once again.

ce again.