Chapter Seven.

The Training Wastes of Sennragen.

The next morning dawned, sickly pale and wan. The watery sun seemed reluctant to rise sturdy in the east; painting the sombre sky red and lowering. The Host broke encampment and embraced formations. The Avalquare had ridden long since; to progress the Great Forest of Cuthalion in stealth. Their tactics laid were thus; they would ride the old Military road by light of the fading moon. They would then progress out to the north, tracing the lower reaches of the smoky-blue hills. When they drew level with the encampments, now, to their west; they would sunder the Company, and, by the pale light of dawn, the two parts would fall upon the Horanaurk encampments in the same span of time in passing; so neither might embrace before the other, a forewarning nor alarm of the doom sweeping down upon them.

In the meadows of Ardenrhyne, the Host broke encampment and mustered for advance. They did not hold stern regiment; there was no beating of War-drums. The Host moved to northwards in easy array. In this was a subtle guile. The Host moved, as if in pleasant amble. Here, there would be no portioning of anxious humour upon the warriors; here, there would be no shredding of nerves. T'would be as if they were walking out with their sisters upon some summer morning. True; here and there, some warrior maids were honing their sabres as they moved across the meadows; others were smoothing their arrow fletchings; but, in the main, all was calmness and tranquility.

All this would change as they breached the borderlands. The drums would beat; the regiments would form, and the wastes of Sennragen would be stormed. For, in the distant north could be hearkened the beating of the barbarian war-drums. They stood, soft, and ominous upon the early morning air. Upon receipt of informations concerning the Avalquare attacks on the outlying encampments, The tyrant Berenvag had mustered his Horde, that was, even now, advancing towards the training wastes of Sennragen to engage these impudent wenches.

To the northerly-east; the Avalquare had fallen upon the Horanaurk encampments. At the southerly encampment, their surprise was complete. Horanaurks, roused by the thunder of hoof, had staggered, all befuddled, from their tents and bothies, to embrace the kiss of whistling sabres, and the dread sting of deep-barbed arrows. For this was the encampment where lay the Naigias; and in receipt of their night of dissoluteness, the Horanaurks paid a sturdy reckoning. Before the dawning sun had cleared the brow of the smoky-blue hills, the encampment was laid to waste. For the loss of, but three of her riders, Fiannah and her sisters slaughtered close on two thousand of the barbarian vermin. Not one Horanaurk prevailed. Such wounded as the Avalquare came upon were despatched out of hand, by dagger-point.

As the Avalquare had decamped, they had freed the captive maids and fired the Naigias; the rising smoke of which, was seen to the north. In the northerly encampment, the sentinels grasped this slender chance to gift the alarm. Some of the more vigilant barbarians invoked a regimented resistance. They turned aside the charge of the Avalquare, who took losses. For a while, it seemed that the foray might not prevail, for the Horanaurks were emplaced in a sturdy defence. But then, came the ride of the sum of the Avalquare from the rout of the southern encampment. The Horanaurks were flanked in surround, and hacked to pieces from the two sides.

The Avalquare loss here was greater; ten, and five maids perished. Their loss, though grievous to their sisters; was, as nothing, when held against four thousand of the Horanaurks, and all their Training Mentors, who numbered close on twenty score. These Mentors were seasoned veterans, posted to these safe encampments as reward for their service in the laying of mayhems in the name of the tyrant Berenvag. Their loss would be a sturdy imposition in the day that would follow.

The Seuna Host was, by now, close to the border. The barbarian war-drums were louder; a faint chanting could be heard upon the air. The last settlement stood before them. Ginessa, as Imperatrix… called the halt. The Commanders made to establish their regiments in the fields and meadows in surround of the settlement. As the muster of orderment of battle was arrayed in keeping with the agreed strategy, it was seen that a matron of the settlement came to Ginessa, and laid some tell upon her. Ginessa nodded, turned about, and rode to Eldamar. She spoke,

'My Lord; come with me, for I have been borne fair intelligence.'

She turned, and rode to a dwelling. Eldamar followed her, and made dismount, as did she. Entering into the dwelling, he saw, at the first; the wide, and troubled eyes of a young, golden-haired maid kneeling at a cot in the shadowy corner of the dwelling. He knew her at once… Sanya. So, she had escaped the massacre at Luxtan. But how? The young Princess gave a slender gasp, saying,

'My Lord…'

No matter. She was here, and she was safe. But who lay in the cot, all swathed in fabrick bindings? Scarcely daring to hope the unthinkable hoping, Eldamar stood closer. The figure stirred, and then, weakly spoke,

'Well, you squandered time enough before you came a'searching, you old fool. Doubtless, you were distracted by the attentions of all those nubile wenches!'

Eldamar gave an intimated laugh, for he could see that Trethan... for this was who it was; was laying forth a mettlesome cozen in his words. He was sorely hurt.

Eldamar spoke,

'Ha! Such chance would be a fine thing indeed. I may be foolish, but to tread that pathway with those vixens would call for a humour that were far beyond hare-brained. But, how came you here? We had close-imagined you lost.'

Trethan made reply,

'This little Golden Goddess came upon me in the deeping underwood of Cuthalion. When we were set upon, I took six, but they felled me from behind, yet again. T'would seem t'is my destiny to be so tumbled, in mayhem.'

Eldamar held a silence, then made to speak. Trethan spoke first,

'Before you think to try soft-cozen; I know of the fates of Kerrin and Lirilith, and also of Justalyn. Little Sanya has laid all before me. All I may hope is that my younglings embraced their fate with such dignity as I tutored them.'

Sanya laid a distressed glance at Eldamar. So, Trethan knew not the full truth of it. Eldamar gifted Sanya a hushing finger to his lip. Better by far, that Trethan knew not the full sum of what had befallen them. Instead, Eldamar replied,

'I am certain-sure that they did, old friend; how could they not, with your blood in their veins? But now… of Segartis. She was found, and even now, prevails in the Stronghold of Ardenrhyne. Such hurts that she endured, are mending. So, you need not embrace any fear for her. Now, rest old friend, for it is certain-sure that she will not thank me for sending her a swain who is hobbled and halted.'

Trethan gave a thin laugh, beset with coughing…

'A swain?... Ha! T'is, as like, for now, I am as much use to the Mistress as a gelded hearth-mouse. Now, get you gone, you old rogue; and leave me with this little Golden Goddess. Fare thee well, old friend; the coxcombs have not heard the last of Trethan of Chandar.'

Eldamar withdrew, thinking: 'Aye, they have; and for a sturdy span in passing.'

He elicited the matron of the dwelling as to the reach of Trethan's hurts. Her tell was not pretty. Trethan bore two deep piercings to his left-most flank. One had pierced him through; the other had sundered three of his ribs. He was in default of two fingers to his sword hand, and his left eye had been struck out. He was passing blood when he made water, and possessed a sturdy sum of hacks and slashes about his person. In simple truth, the matron had supposed she might find him having died in his sleep, any of the past six morns since he had been brought to her.

Eldamar called forth Artanis, who waited without, her eyes full of concern. He asked if she had any of the Tincture of Alfirin still in store. She rummaged in her bodice and brought forth the phial. It stood at one-quarter full. T'was not much, but it might prevail. He handed the phial to the matron, and laid instruction specific as to how she should bestow the same to Trethan's hurts. It would do 'naught for his struck-out eye, but, there might be sum in suffice to mend him enough for him to progress with Sanya to the safety of Ardenrhyne.

Stern of countenance, he walked to Starshadow. From his saddle, he unstrapped Eithelhwen. Drawing her from sheath, he reached into pannier and brought forth a whet-stone. Then, he began to hone her. Hearing the keening shrillas he laid a singularly razor-sharp eging to her, Ginessa rode to him. With her eyes full of curiousness, she asked,

'What do you, my Lord? As Imperator Strategist, you will not need to do this. Your place is overlooking the engagement with me, in my standing as Imperatrix; in company with my Commanders. These have ever been the rules of engagement.'

Eldamar cast a stern gaze at her; saying,

'Perhaps, that is as it would stand in common affray. But this is not common affray. This is the Matter of The Oneness of The Light, and I shall prosecute this thing in company of The Host. What you would do is for you to decide; but, I am resolved in this issue.'

And, Ginessa saw… That, was an end to it.

And so; in the dank, and drifting early morning mists of that late summer, the Host of Seuna advanced in battle array to embrace the dismal Training wastes of Sennragen. As the Companies of foot warriors came down to Sennragen to assemble their formation of engagement, they each drew a sturdy shield from one of the several wagons that had joined the Host from the Arsenals of Ardenrhyne. In like fashion, the foot archers, who had marched without weapon, save a clutch of arrows; each drew a great, double-curved bow, and war-quiver of arrows; each arrow shaft being tipped with the dreaded, bodkin-head killers.

Ginessa, in seeing she would not turn Eldamar from his purpose, had ridden a patrol forward to the ruins of Luxtan, where they had foraged, and found the War-mail for Starshadow. In this, was the knowing that a great white Unicorn would reveal that the one who rode upon him was of singular importance to the Host, and thus, would be a choice target. She had no mail of sturdy enough measure for Eldamar, save a single mail shirt. This, with a pair of sturdy vambraces, needs-must suffice. Artanis held no vexation in need of War-garb; she now stood, clad in the mail bustier and war-skirt of an Avalquare. All was now complete.

The Seuna War-drums began their beating, as the warrior maiden Host of Seuna moved out into the Training wastes of Sennragen. And there, on the shoulder of the smoky-blue hills to the east, was to be seen, a solitary rider; being cloaked and cowled in red, sitting silently, upon a red horse. The Rider of Doom; The Rider of War, in patient attendance of the gathering in of his dreadful harvest from off this field of woe.

A little beyond a league distant to the north, were arrayed one-hundred and one-score thousand Horanaurks. The tyrant Berenvag had winnowed his Dominion for all who could drag sword. He had impressed the Tur-anion Death Squads and the Galdors as Heavy cavalry... in sum, some ten score; laying upon them, the long war lances that were called, in jest: "Pig Stickers." These vermin embraced small sum of knowing of this device, and still less sum of skill in the usage. For this endeavour, they held no small measure of disrelish. This was a differentness; this was not their common sport of persecution and torture of defenceless homesteaders and maidens; nor their brutal abductions and despoilments. The tyrant Berenvag knew this; and holding them fully expendable, chose to deploy a squadron of seasoned Tur-anion Death Cabal assassins to the rear of the Horde; charged to gift summary execution to any, and all who might choose to retreat.

The Training waste of Sennragen was indeed a dismal place to perceive that morning. The wreathing mist clung to the ground, which was stone-bestrewn and sandy. Sparse clumps of sickly, coarse grasses straggled here and there; stunted scrubbings of thorn and bramble sprawled about. The very ground lay blighted from the spill of Darkling gore; shed in the brutal training that had manifested about this forsaken place for a sturdy span of time in passing. The sun, now climbing; yet shone pale and watery; and such clouds as scudded above the Wastes held a minacious reddish cast. The distant drums beat louder; and there! The venomous black stain of the distant Horde now stood to sight.

The foot archers of Seuna arrayed themselves along the boundings of the Great Forest of Cuthalion and notched arrow to nocking. The strategy of choose was thus: the Foot warriors would form to assail the barbarians in the centre in wedge formation to break the barbarian line; flanked by two more companies of foot archers to protect the centre and envelop the enemy with plunging arrow flight. Each charge of the foot warriors would be supported by foot archers who would detach from the flanking formation and precede the foot warriors in order to provide arrow flight.

Whilst the Foot Warriors engaged their enemy counterparts, the cavalry archers would sweep in to scatter the enemy formations. The cavalry archers would draw bow, and let fly on the enemy's front ranks with their powerful double-curved, short bows. Once the Horanaurks had been sufficiently weakened, they would draw their sabres and charge. The rearmost ranks would follow, drawing their bows and letting fly ahead as they rode. This highly effective meld of arrow flight with shock assault would put their opponents at a dangerous disadvantage. For, if they closed ranks to better resist the charging sabres, they would make themselves more vulnerable to arrow flight; but if they spread out to evade the arrows, then the sabres would prevail with no great imposition in the breaking of their thinned ranks.

The foot warriors would accomplish advanced positions in front of the cavalry, with the cavalry deployed behind them. At horn command, the foot warriors would sunder a gap in their lines for the cavalry archers to charge therethrough. When charging the enemy, the first three ranks would loose arrows to create a sundering in the enemy's formation; then, at about one-hundred cubits distance from the foe, the first ranks would cast down their bows and take sabre in hand; charging the line at full gallop, followed by the remainder of the Mounted Company. It was fair assumption that these charges would end with the enemy Horde routing. Now, the foot warriors would advance to secure the surround and permit the cavalry to take of brief respite, and re-form themselves.

As the Seuna Host stood; the Horanaurks gave flight to their first crossbow volley. The distance was beyond span of flight, and none prevailed. The horn signal was laid to the foot archers. As one; twenty, and five score, powerful, double-curved war bows were fully drawn. At horn signal, the second... bow arms were lifted skywards. At horn signal, the third; the full weight of volley was loosed. The air was filled with a sound like the chill winter wind casting breath through the treetops. This was lost in the great wave of screaming and shrieking from the Horanaurk Horde as the plunging rain of arrows struck; the dreaded bodkin-headed killers piercing through the sturdy leathern armour of the barbarians and skewering into the quivering flesh beneath. The first lines tumbled like grain in the summer mow; writhing and shrieking beneath the feet of their companions, who trampled them into the coarse, sandy soil as they progressed their advance.

The Horanaurks gathered pace. They embraced their stand to begin their charge. As they broke into a quickening tread, they ran into volley, the second; and the third. The Foot archers laid a dreadful rain upon their heads, as the barbarians shrieked and tumbled. This was the sign for the Foot warrior maids to engage. They raised a terrible noise by clashing their weapons against their shields, and howling and screaming, as they surged out across Sennragen, seemingly in a wild desperate charge; but, in truth; in careful embrace of such stand as to form the wedge that would sunder the ranks of the vermin before them.

As they charged; so the foot archers to their outer wings, now armed with the close range, double-curved bows laid punishing flights of arrows into the flanks of their foe. The foot warrior maids burst upon the foremost Horanaurk ranks and laid about with their vicious sabres, sundering the ranks as they pressed forwards. As they held close-quarter slaughter, there came the baying of a horn. Now came the cavalry archers, laying withering flights of arrows into the depths of the barbarian Horde. The foot warriors forced a clear passage, and the cavalry maids threw down their bows, drew sabres, and rode down on the Horde, slashing and hacking all about them. Still, the bow maids at the forest edge let fly their volleys. The Horanaurks were so tightly pressed; they could not bring their crossbows to bear. Their Captains screamed and shrieked orders, but to no avail. In this first dreadful engagement, the barbarians lost close, one-fifth of their strength.

As the Darklings frantically re-formed; now, came a dreadful sight to the eyes of the verminous Horde. From their right flank came a charge of cavalry... close upon a thousand howling maids; sabres glinting in the pale sunlight; and more… from their right flank; suddenly, there burst out of the tree line, above two-hundred shining, mail-clad, mounted warrior maids. The Avalquare squadron, led by their Commander: Fiannah, charged down upon them, and hacked the right flank to shreds.

The barbarian Horde, reeling from this two-sided assault bunched together. In this, they sealed the fate of many more of their brethren than might have prevailed, had they held firm. For, from the edge of the Great Forest of Cuthalion; the bow maids let fly volley after volley of the bodkin-headed arrows. Great gaps were torn in the Horde as the plunging rain struck. The Horanaurks began to give ground in retreat. Soon it would be a rout. The only thing that caused them to hold was the knowing that the Tur-anion waited for them to the rear… or so, they thought. For, in truth there were no Tur-anion lying in wait to execute those who fled in retreat.

The Tur-anion had lounged, safe in the knowing that they were beyond harm's way; being far to the rear. As they watched the Horde advance into the field of battle, they jested and bragged of how they would avail themselves of the captive Algethi-wenches at the Naigias that night. As they lost themselves in savour of the defilements they would prosecute, they did not see the covert movements in the spinney behind them.

Had they so seen, they would not have made jest, 'nor laid savour. For, in the depths of the spinney lay their doom; and a dreadful doom at that. The spinney held three score of Partisan maids. A Partisan maid watcher had laid intelligence of the muster of the barbarian Horde to Laurana; the "Vagehal Hetenloske Mahok"... "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut."

She had ridden out her partisans from Amberdrove in the Forest of Aldreth, to lay covert mayhems in support of the Seunaian Warrior maiden Host. Now, they lay in concealment; each armed with a fortified crossbow, spanned with the terrible, soft-nosed quarrels. Little Yara, the Amberdrove smithy, had not been idle. She had crafted a sturdy store of these harbingers of shrieking doom... enough indeed, to gift a terrible, writhing doom to each and all of these Tur-anion Death Cabal vermin.

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This portioning of doom would bring small imposition to the Partisan maids. They need loose, but four quarrels each; and, with the crossbow spanning levers that Yara had crafted, this were no imposition at all. The Partisan maids laid careful aim. Each had chosen her four victims. This held that a few misfortunate Tur-Anions might well be gifted two of the dreadful quarrels. At the silent signal of Laurana, all loosed their quarrels.

All that the Tur-anion heard was a moaning whine; much like night wind in the treetops. The first four, so struck; shrieked and fell writhing; as their guts burst out of their bellies and were spattered all about. Their comrades turned, and were gifted with volley, the second. Again, came the dreadful shriekings as their shredded and torn innards and shattered bones sprayed out of their backs.

The Tur-anion closest to the spinney drew their blades and made to rush toward the trees. They embraced volley, the third. The few in remain, made turn to run, spattered as they were, with their comrades entrails. They were made gift of volley, the fourth. Squealing and writhing in their dreadful dooming; with their bellies and chests sundered, and their guts and lungs and splintered ribs bursting forth, all mangled and shredded; they flailed about and fell.

Most perished before they embraced the reeking sandy ground, but there were a few who writhed and thrashed a while longer; dragging in great mouthfuls of air, so they might shriek the more. Within the space of scarce, one-tenth of a Sundial-shadow, the Tur-anion Death Cabal assassin squadron had been utterly destroyed. Each and all were then marked with a letter "C," betokening Cirnelle, or a letter "S," betokening Seremela; carved into their foreheads. The Horde, whether in retreat, rout, or disengage; would find the carcasses and could not fail but to perceive the cypher of "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut" or, as they called her, in their own tongue, "Vagehal Hetenloske Mahok" standing brazen upon the foreheads of each of these ruined barbarians. This might well gift them more affright, knowing that even here, the wrathful hand of their nemesis yet prevailed.

Laurana and her partisans melted away into the spinney, as if they were ghosts in the night... as if they had never been there. They moved to the north; their next quarry would be the tyrant Berenvag, Himself.

Meantime; out in the wastes of Sennragen, the forces had disengaged. The Seuna Host gathered such of their wounded as they might, progressing them back to the boundings of the Great Forest of Cuthalion to gift such aid as they could. The barbarian Horde left their fallen where they fell; if they could not fight, then they were held as worthless. They also dragged off many of the sorely-wounded Seunaian warrior maidens. Such a bounty of soft, helpless flesh was not to be overpassed; no matter how grievous were the hurts that such maids possessed.

They were carried to the rear and given over to the vermin who, in the eyes of their Captains, had fought with the greatest vigour and barbarity. These vermin so chosen were given free hand to impose such ravishments and defilements upon these helpless maids as their loathsome lusts so embraced. This repellent spectacle was prosecuted before the gaze of the assembled Horde. This, it was supposed, would lay a sturdy inducement in those who leeringly watched; to fortify their next demeanour of foray; so they might next, become the defilers.

Each, and every maid taken; no matter how dreadful were her hurts... no matter how near she was to perishing; was so desecrated. When, at length, the sum of the chosen barbarians had sated their perverse cravings; the maids still living were despatched by having their throats cut across.

To the north, Laurana and her Partisan band were making sturdy progress through the southerly plain, and soon, would reach the borders of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth. No Darklings had been spied on their ride. The tyrant Berenvag had stripped the southern reaches of Astalan to form his great Horde. The only shadow of The Darkness had been a covey of Kaaroks that had wheeled about, and then prosecuted attack. For their pains, the Kaaroks had each been gifted a soft-nosed quarrel. They made an agreeable reveal as they burst asunder in the air; all raining flesh and fluttering feathers.

As they broached the reedy borderlands of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth, Laurana was laying her plan. It was certain-sure, that Berenvag would have only a small retinue of protectors about him. Such, was his arrogance, that he would think himself secure within the walls of the Citadel. T'was, as like, that any watchers would beset the south ramparts, gazing out over the distant wastes of Sennragen in perceive of how went the day.

The causeway to the Citadel gate led in from the west; it might be that they could accomplish the gate unseen. They would need to skirt the borders of the marsh, and progress through the wooded lands to the west. At length, they would reach the northern edge of the marsh, and progress the southerly causeway to the cleave that led to the Citadel. It was a vexsome fattening of their ride, but stood prudent in their endeavour.

Back in the wastes of Sennragen; the second assault had begun. The barbarians advanced at sturdy pace, straight into another plunging rain of arrows. As the ranks scattered and spread out, their Captains screaming at them to hold regiment; even to drawing blade and hacking at their warriors. Slowly, the Horanaurk ranks began to gather... too slowly; for now upon them, burst the whole Seunaian cavalry in a dreadful massed charge; riding them down at full gallop, hacking and slashing; and sundering the Horde complete. The Darklings strove to reform battle line, only to be faced with a wave of shrieking, screaming Foot warrior maids, some three-score thousand strong; with the blood-lust shining bright and terrible in their eyes.

Eldamar, Artanis, and Ginessa had ridden with the cavalry, and now laid bloody mayhems about them in the midst of the Horde. Eldamar; sweeping the mighty Sword of The Light, "Eithelhwen" into the massed ranks; sundering Horanaurks as simply as drawing a dagger through whey; Artanis; hacking them down with her vicious Wiccen Rede Death blow; gashing bellies and spilling their steaming entrails into the reeking, and blackened sandy soil. Ginessa; splitting pates with an evil war-axe; bladed to one head-face, spiked to the other; all spattered from boot to hip with drooling Horanaurk brains. The Horde began to waver before this dreadful carnage; the rearmost ranks began to rout… and were faced with the cavalry who had slaughtered the Galdor Lancers, then wheeled their mounts about; and now, fell upon the barbarians with their sabres.

From the right flank there came again, the two-hundred terrible, shining, mail-clad warrior maids… The Avalquare, who charged into the fray, forcing the right flank to crowd and gather. And again, came the sound, like the chill winter wind casting breath through the treetops. But, this time, t'was a rain of flaming night arrows that plunged into the Horanaurk crush, turning those so struck, into shrieking, living torches that blundered into their brethren, enkindling their garments; which, being oiled leather in the armoured portions; burst into flaming. Seeing this dreadful spectacle, the Horde broke into rout, blindly running from this carnage, only to be smitten by the vicious, hacking sabres of the cavalry who held them in full surround.

Turning again, the Horanaurks ran into the teeth of close on two-score thousand foot warriors, each now burning with blood lust; each now resolved to hack these vermin to shreds. The Seunaian Warrior maids whirled, screaming, into the scattering midst of the Horanaurk vermin slashing and hewing down their foe.

This second foray was not an engagement; it was a massacre. The Horanaurks lost regiment in the face of this blind, reckless fury laid upon them by the Warrior maids of Seuna. The sandy face of Sennragen was now, no more than a reeking quagmire; slimed black by Horanaurk blood. The very ground steamed with the spill of Darkling gore.

Within the space of less than the span in passing of two Sundial shadows, scarcely one of the tyrant Berenvag's barbarian Horde prevailed upon his feet. The Training wastes of Sennragen echoed with the shriekings of countless abandoned and sorely afflicted Horanaurks. Those who made good their feet in staggering retreat were cut down with arrows. The Seuna Host then dis-engaged; bearing their dead and wounded with them.

As the day drew to closing, the Host rested in the Great Forest of Cuthalion. The shrieking of the fallen vermin out in the wastes of Sennragen, at length, crept discomfiting, about the nerves of the warrior maidens, who forayed out in covert parties gifting despatch to those who they found, with thrust of sabre blade. Little by little, the shrieks and moans diminished, until all was quiet.

To the north, Laurana and her partisans accomplished the Citadel gates unseen. Slipping within, they despatched, with the dreadful soft-nosed quarrels, such retainers of the tyrant Berenvag as they discovered. T'was not a sturdy span in passing, before the walls were all bespattered with the sliming spoil of the Darklings' shredded and torn innards. Bursting into the Great chamber of the Citadel, they encountered the last few retainers. These were swiftly, and gruesomely despatched; again, with soft-nosed quarrels. Now, all that was left undone was the apportioning of retribution on the person of Berenvag, himself.

Laurana and her partisans found him within his Court harem, skulking behind his captive maids. They stood in silent amaze as they perceived him. T'was imagined that he would be some giant brute, but in truth, he was not. He stood no more than two, and one-half cubits; being close the same in sum, about his corpulent gut. He was in receipt of a disrelishing countenance, beetle-browed and warty of lip. His eyes; though the blood-red of the Horanaurk; held not the black slitting as is shown by the eyes of a cat in the sun; but bore black, round centres, as would Algethi or Thuvian. The tyrant Berenvag was a half-blood!

He saw his doom upon their faces, and began to whine and grovel. Like all tyrants, he held small sum of courage 'less he was surrounded by his henchmen. This whimper and pleading laid to them not the slightest concern. He was dragged, whining his entreatments of mercy, without the walls of the Citadel. In this dragging, by reason of his legs buckling beneath him in his terror; he abandoned a sturdy sum of his skin upon the rough flags across which he was dragged. In this, he sealed for himself a dreadful doom.

The tyrant Berenvag was stripped naked, and firmly bound within a small boat of wicker and hides, called a "Tuor." His head, hands, and feet were hung, and firmly lashed over the sides. He lay there; a disrelishingly corpulent, white, whimpering slug; with all power and might stripped away.

The gazes of the Partisan maids in surround were singularly offended by this reveal of his repellent carcass as they envisioned what his captive Harem maids had been forced to endure under the yoke of his licentiousness. Indeed, it took but small store of imagination to paint a stark and dreadful picture of this sweaty, quivering fleshiness slithering against their enslaved and captive bodies as he prosecuted his lust upon them. In truth, this disgusting percept stood tall in their thoughts as a nightmare vision of stomach-churning adiposity.

From the Citadel kitchens, the Partisan maids brought forth a great pitcher of noisome, stale, and scurvy cattle milk and a great pot of rancid honey. They forced the milk and honey down his retching throat until his spoil of easement began to dribble from out of him as though t'were water. More of the rancid honey was rubbed upon his pale and flabby carcass, so as to attract insects to his flesh that lay bare to the sunlight. He was floated out upon the stagnant moat of the Citadel; the Tuor was roped sturdy, so that it would not drift towards either bank; and there, he was abandoned.

His spoil of easement that now, was bursting from out of his body without surcease, gathered splatteringly within the depths of the Tuor as a stinking, festering pool. This loathsomeness attracted more insects, which ate at, and bred within his exposed raw flesh, where soon… mayhap, in as thin a span in passing, as two moons, would come the first signs of the dreaded Green Rot. The path to his death; when at length it would gift him release; was terrible and shrieking; whilst his maggoty, rotting flesh fell from off his bones as he squirmed and writhed in his agony.

The tyrant Berenvag prevailed in this awful dooming for five moons, before dying. Laurana, and all the Partisan maids who oversaw his nightmare, shrieking torment; opined that this loathsome creature had truly embraced his just requital for the abominations unleashed at his command.

Out in the Training wastes of Sennragen, the warrior maidens of Seuna toiled in the gatherment of countless Horanaurk carcasses. This would squander in the spending, some three moons in passing. All were thrown upon a great pyre which was raised on the field of battle. There was small relish in digging for them a burial pit, so… they would be burned. For the first day, the warrior maids walked amongst them, despatching with sabre thrust, those who yet lived.

Not one Horanaurk would leave the field of battle in possession of his verminous span. Astalan would be freed of this black blight, once and for all. When all was done; the pyre stood some score and ten cubits in height, and close, five-score cubits about. Here then, were gathered some one-hundred and one score thousand barbarian carcasses. When the pyre was fired; the stink would prevail across the southerly plains of Astalan for a sturdy span in passing.

The fallen of the Host of Seuna were carried to a place within the boundaries of their homeland. Here, in a soft, green valley, by name: Tyraes Tystysol; a great cairn was raised. Here, would sleep some forty-score of the warrior maidens. Each was given full honours in her passing; her sword was laid naked upon her; her head was laid to the east and her feet to the west. A garland of Chandaron blossoms; being a fragile violet flower, close akin to a moon violet, that grew in this place, would be encircled about her brow. The Realm of Seuna held custom, the same in this matter, as did the Western lands. It seemed all sword-maidens were venerated thus.

Eldamar and Artanis elected that they would rest with the Host that night; and in the morning, would ride north to seek out the key to The Riddle of The Dread Imposition. Ginessa stood resolute that a troop of Fiannah's Avalquare would ride them escort. T'was not beyond imagine that some of the barbarians might have escaped the Massacre of Sennragen; as it would be so called in distant, future times. There would be no dispute in this matter.

So it was; on the morrow, they rode out to north, gifted with the word of Ginessa, laid in the name of Segartis, Throng Mistress of Seuna; that they would be ever welcome in the Realm of Seuna.

Within the passing of three Sundial shadows; Eldamar and Artanis; in company with the troop of Fiannah's Avalquare riding escort, accomplished the borders of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth. To the south, a great plume of darkening, and foetid smoke stained the sky. The Pyre had been fired, and would burn for a sturdy span in passing. Standing at the edge of the marsh, with the causeway hard to their left-most hand; Eldamar drew forth the parchment upon which was written, their supposed solve of Riddle, the first. Gazing to the east; There! The tumbled cairn. The opening lines of the second part of the riddle had read:

"Here, ye needs must trail the sedge to East, in pace, two score... No less.

Before ye, stands a tumbled cairn; slighted by the Foe, in guess

the prize were here; but, it was not; The Dragon Lord held store of Guile..."

So; they might now, disregard the two score paces and approach the cairn, without needing to dismount. The Avalquare troop held where they were; in careful regard of the surround… alert for sign of movement; but there was none. The Great Marsh of Rachlareth was as silent as the grave. At the tumble-down cairn, Eldamar and Artanis made dismount. Eldamar read the next line of riddle;

"Progress four score paces on, to where the winds turn silver smile..."

There, before them, stood an ancient, and much pollarded willow. This would indeed, gift them a "Silver Smile" when the wind turned its leaves about. The next lines read:

"Here, ye stand off to the south, and soon enough, Ye there, shall spy

a Lith, that stands, all finger straight; as if in pointing to the sky."

And there; some two-hundred cubits distant to the south, was a Standing Stone... the "Lith" as it was so called, in ancient times. Artanis was now as enraptured as a young maid in attend of her first Lammas Torch dance. She laughed; her eyes bright,

'Come! Let us find this treasure; Come! Make haste, my Lord!'

She made to run for the Standing stone, Eldamar laughed,

'Hold hard! There is small virtue in haste; the sun is not yet at zenith. Such clue as would be found would be a deceit.'

Artanis gifted him a petulant pout.

'Pshaw! Has your humour for emprise escaped you?'

Eldamar laughed again,

'Methinks my humour for emprise has been sorely stretched these last days in passing; now attend awhile. T'is close to zenith, and soon enough, your curiosity shall be sated.'

They accomplished the standing stone and Eldamar held forth a tiny Sundial to view. Beneath the face of the Sundial disc, hung a thread. Attached to the thread was a needle. This needle spun about and then settled to rest. Eldamar turned the disc gently about, until a mark upon its face lay in the same position as the needle. This was now pointing to the north, and the shadow on the Sundial would tell true.

The shadow cast by the gnomon... being the name of the angled, upright standing upon the face of the disc, slowly crept to embrace of the mark of the zenith inscribed in the Sundial disc face. There! The zenith came to passing. They moved to the place where the shadow of the standing stone cast its furthest span. Here, they would now dig. For the next line of riddle lay thus:

"Here, behold the shadow crown, cast by the Sun at zenith rise,

all cloaked beneath the sward where 'ere it falls, ye shall espy the prize."

Artanis was, even now, digging with her dagger; thrusting down through the turf and scraping out the soil. Eldamar joined in her toiling. They had, perhaps, dug to a deeping of half-a-cubit, when her dagger point struck something hard. Swiftly, she clawed out the soil, and there lay a wrapping of leather. Drawing it forth from its slumbering place, they saw it was an old, leathern Algethi cavalry cloak; but what lay within the wrappings?

The ancient cloak was mouldered as hard as a wattle-clad wall; it held the require of no small sum of sturdiness to sunder it. When they did so; there, before them, lay a plain, and lowly oaken chest, blackened with age; holding body in sum of mayhap, half-a-cubit in length, and a quarter of the same in span, and deeping. There could be seen no means to open it up. All that lay to their view was a piercing; perhaps, three finger-spans across. How then, to breach this casket?

Suddenly, to his remembrance came the words of Nundah, the Crone of Harlond Coomb;

"Your Companion Artanis has the key in her possession. It is the Talisman of Maeglin, and at the appointed time she shall know how it must be used."

Eldamar cast gaze at Artanis; she was, even now, making rummage into her mount's pannier. She brought forth the carefully wrapped Talisman of Maeglin... this blackened, shrunken, and dried manhood of the brother of Elaiana, "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." He; who, as She began to Dream Her Great Dream of Creation; molested her, and was un-manned by her Guardians with their bare hands in reprisal for his sacrilege of his sister, The Goddess. This Talisman... this torn-out manhood that was taken away and cast upon the hillside to corrupt. This, it did not do; it became as if carved of wood; hard and shrivelled and black. It could not be destroyed.

This shrivelled and blackened manhood; sought down the Ages by all manner of Warlords, Witches, Warlocks and the like, even unto "The Lord of The Underdark;" as a Talisman of unspeakable power… that which could not be destroyed; now held the sum of the unmasking of The Riddle of The Charyanthe Stone. Artanis brought the Talisman forth, and studied the casket. She thrust the Talisman into the piercing as; in ages of far distant past, had Maeglin so thrust the same into his sister, the young Elaiana. The casket sprang open, and there lay another wrapping of leather. She lifted it gently from thereout, and handed it to Eldamar, her eyes bright with triumph.

With infinite care, he opened the wrappings and there, before them, lay a crystal flask. A crystal flask that was not just a crystal flask, though it embraced the shape and substance of a common flask... as perhaps, would contain Glow-fire or some other sturdy liquor. This flask was encased and compassed about with a Great Dragon crafted in filigree gold. Within the flask, firm stoppered and waxen-sealed, was a parchment.

Artanis gazed at the flask, her eyes wide. It was a most beautiful, and magnificent thing; a perfection of Algethi crafting. And now, the vexing part of the riddle stood in full reveal;

"The Mal'loki that clasps the crystal, holds the Riddle sum in thrall..."

They had thought, perhaps, this was some jewel. Now it stood full, in its cunning reveal. The Filigree Golden Dragon did indeed clasp the crystal; crafted as it was, to encase the crystal flask all about. So this then, was the key. Eldamar breached the waxen sealing about the mouth of the flask with care. Drawing forth the stopper; with care, he drew out the parchment therein, and made read. It was yet one more riddle... again, as with the first; scribed in elegant, and ancient, Script Charybon Runic were written these words; which, in the common tongue spoke thus:

"Give to drink, The Mal'loki, that clasps the crystal all about;

At Camas Mhor, stand on the Dexter Portal Stone, whilst gazing out

across the Eyrie; as would arrow fly, towards the Keeper's Hall;

Hold me at half-cubit reach, regard the tablet through my all.

Thence, I shall show in turn... the sum, though at the first, I may gift frown,

Tenacity will gift the word to tear Dread Imposition down."

Eldamar held puzzlement at this part, the first of the riddle…"Give to drink, The Mal'loki, that clasps the crystal all about."

What then, meant Lokari by this curious line? For, t'was certain sure that this Golden Dragon could never be given to drink. Artanis studied the parchment, a little frown upon her face. In a while, she smiled, saying,

'Of course! This means not to give drink to the Dragon in plain deed; for this could never be accomplished. T'is, methinks; a play upon words; chosen to vex the finder. It means that the flask should be given to drink… or filled with water, before it is peered therethrough.'

Eldamar laughed,

Is there no end to your peerless gifts, Artanis Seregon? For not only have you great beauty, and consummate skill with blade, but you are nimble-witted to boot. Of course it is. It can be nothing else. The remain of the riddle need now be fathomed, whilst compassed about by the Dragon Eyrie of Storien-Rhudd; for there, the rest of this will fall into place.'

Artanis smiled,

'Why, thank you, my Lord Eldamar; but you have overlooked my most sturdy gift; being that, of uncommonly wise inclination. For have I not chosen the Lord Guardian of The Light, to sire me a beautiful daughter?'

Eldamar stared at her,

'What mean you? You have ridden to battle when you are with child?'

Artanis laughed,

'Calm yourself, my Lord; I am not as yet, with child. For, in spite of our dalliances, my Moon-flow as yet, still comes a'calling. But be assured; it is my inclination that I shall be so, 'ere we reach the borders of Arfeiniel, and I return to Bradda.'