Chapter Two.

The Cabal of Bradda.

A pair of Sundial-shadows in passing, and Eldamar and his new-found companion, Feawen, made preparation to leave the secluded pool where that, which she had called "The Covenant of Opportunity" had been consummated. Eldamar mounted Starshadow, and turned towards the slender rift in the rock face, whence through they had at the first, entered this placid glade. Feawen called to him…

'Nay, my Lord, we shall not progress Malphaers at this time; for the Riders may yet be thereabouts, and my power to deny them stands not sturdy at this time.'

Eldamar smiled,

'T'is perhaps, your prosecution of your part of "The Covenant of Opportunity," as you would call it, has taken measure, and more of your fortitude?'

She smiled, softly, and sensuously,

'Perhaps... perhaps not; we needs-must wait and see.'

Then turning her Cordach crossling stallion, she led him up through the stand of willows into a soft, green valley that clove the Hills of Tillethmhor to eastwards. They rode east for the space of two Sundial-shadows.

At length, they came upon a small bothy, crouching amongst a copse of ancient Wychwithy trees. In the low doorway, there stood a woman. She wore a myrtle-dyed, lilac gown, and her hair was silvering. As they drew closer, she held out her arms in welcome, and Eldamar saw, although she held summers in plenty, she was still a most comely matron. Indeed, she must have been most beautiful in her springtime. She spoke:

'You are most welcome to my hearth. I know what you seek of me, and all is prepared. I see you stand ready to pass on the Wiccen Rede, Feawen; and a fine choice of Sire you have made in Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light.'

Eldamar stood in surprise at this thing. He spoke, saying:

'How know you of me? For I have never gazed upon your face, and nor you upon mine.'

Feawen spoke:

'This is Ainariel Fefalas, wisest of all the Wiccen Rede Priestesses of Arfeiniel. She is The Revered Mother, and holds the knowing of all that ever was, all that is now, and all that shall ever be.'

Eldamar smiled,

'Ah, yes, I have heard of this, even as far as the Shining Lands; but I had thought The One called The Revered Mother would hold in receipt, countless span of wizened summers, and not possess a countenance so pleasing.'

Ainariel Fefalas gifted him a wry smile.

'T'is truth that I am beset by a heavy burden of summers, and my face is not as it once was. The Lord Guardian of The Light is known abroad for his silver tongue in these matters; yet, we shall see what we shall see, presently.'

They entered the bothy. The air was sturdy with the aroma of peat smoke. Ainariel Fefalas took Feawen aside and they communed in some tongue that Eldamar could not make sense of… some ancient tongue, not unlike Algethi, and yet, not the same. Ainariel Fefalas at length, stood, and progressed to a wall-niche shuttered by oaken panels. From here, she drew forth a dark, shrunken object and handed the same to Feawen, who took it into her hands in awe and reverence. Eldamar, beset with curiousness… spoke.

'What then, is this strange device you hold in such reverence?'

Ainariel Fefalas made reply,

'T'is the Talisman of Maeglin.'

Eldamar studied the strange object… then came the knowing… suddenly, and with stern disrelish. T'was the blackened, and dried manhood of some misfortunate creature; being some eight finger spans in length; and perhaps, two in girth… but, to what purpose?… Why such reverence? He laid forth such questions to Ainariel Fefalas.

She replied that this Talisman was from the Ancient of Days, long before The Age of The Beginnings. The misting remembrance of tell spanning forth from those times, told of The Young Goddess Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being," who; as She began to Dream Her Dream of The Creation; was pillaged in her dreaming by her brother, Maeglin.

When this thing came to the knowing of Her Guardians… those, who would become the forebears of the Black riders, also called the Nemesis of Lothluthil; laid hands upon Maeglin and unmanned him with their bare hands in reprisal for his sacrilege of his sister, The Goddess.

The torn-out manhood was taken away, and cast upon a hillside to corrupt. This, it did not do; it became as if, carved of wood; hard, and and black. It could not be destroyed. Thus, it was hidden away; imagined as being a most potent symbol of that which cannot be understood, 'nor cannot be destroyed.

As the Ages passed, the dried and blackened manhood was sought by all manner of Warlords, Witches, Warlocks and the like; even unto "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark"... as a Talisman of unspeakable power… that which could not be destroyed. In the Second Age of The Light, it was brought into Arfeiniel by an earlier Revered Mother, and hidden away. Now, the time of its reveal was at hand. Eldamar quested for the Dolmen of Rhonas-Mhoir. No man might pass through the portal; only a female was so permitted. The Talisman of Maeglin would be the key to the portal. The portal penetrated the Dreaming of Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being."

The Talisman had penetrated the young Elaiana as She began Her Dream of The Creation. Thus, as it was; so would it be again… The Talisman would penetrate her once again. In this, Eldamar might gain admission to the portal of The Dreaming; or, so spoke the ancient Myth. All was coming to passing; the Circle of Amriath was turning softly again. The Talisman could only be held by womankind. This was why Feawen had been despatched to encounter Eldamar. She would carry the Talisman of Maeglin to the Dolmen of Rhonas-Mhoir, and unlock the Portal for Eldamar to enter therein.

Eldamar gazed on The Talisman in manner bemused. All this was beyond a simple Guardian. His knowing of The Old Magick was palpable... as black is to white. The Enchantments of womankind were as tangled as a skein of weaving wool beset by a playful kitten… as diverse as there are shades of green in the forest deeping.

Feawen had decamped to her ablutions. Ainariel Fefalas was speaking once more;

'My Lord, your day has been long, and twilight is a'creeping. Let us repair to sleeping, for the morrow will also be of stern measure.'

Eldamar cast gaze about the bothy; there was, but one bedchamber, and therein, a great oaken bed. She watched him, her eyes depthless and unreadable, and she murmured…

'Aye, we can all sleep there as one; t'is a singularly sizeable bed.'

Eldamar shrugged, and divested himself of garb, down to his drawers; then slipped under the covers. Ainariel Fefalas lay beside him, and he felt her warmth against him. She gazed into his face, and he noticed that her eyes were a beautiful, clear pale grey. He had not noticed her eyes before now. She lay there, as if expectant of him to prosecute some advance. When he did not, she held his eyes with her steady, clear, pale grey gaze, and without a word, she gently took his hand as she loosed the golden clasp at the neck of her lilac gown, then slipped his hand within.

Her face and throat were tanned the soft brown of a young hazelnut; lined and weathered with the passing of sun and wind, down the drifting summers. But, beneath her lilac gown, her skin was milky pale, soft and smooth; and as his hand touched her warmth, his senses were delighted as she gently pressed his fingers into the luscious, soft, rounded whiteness of her. And so, knowing that this was what she expected of him, he reached for her.

Later, as they lay in each other's arms, there came into the slumbering chamber, Feawen… clad in naught but a thin shift which she let slip whispering to the floor. Stepping thereout from the crumpled shift, she joined them in the great bed. Eldamar was most singularly surprised at this; but neither female showed vexation at this thing. Ainariel Fefalas spoke softly, with a gentle smile,

'Stand not in concern of this thing, My Lord Eldamar, you are in a place where there are no males. The Mordbrood destroyed, or ran off all… even to the last one, in this Realm of Arfeiniel. Long since, have our sisters held Covenant that there shall be no singular bonding, nor rancour because of the lack of it, in this land. You are free to progress such females as would desire of you so, to do; and none then, to stand forth with the eye that shines with greenness in this matter.'

Eldamar, still a little perplexed at this; gave respond… his voice full of wryness,

'This would be, as if, a dream… were I to hold two-score summers less than I do. Alas, I do not. The mind may be willing, but sadly, it would seem to have eyes bigger that its belly.'

Ainariel Fefalas gazed at Feawen lying close to Eldamar, her belly 'gainst his belly, her thigh 'gainst his thigh; and Ainariel Fefalas smiled softly,

'T'would seem you have awakened in Feawen, a most singular itch that requires of you to scratch it in most diligent a manner. Thus, as you have given of yourself freely to me, then I shall give of myself freely to you.'

She laid her fingers gently upon his underbelly, and slowly, from her fingertips, a golden glow crept about his loins. As it so crept, then his body stirred and rose, betraying him complete; heroic in its measure. Feawen gasped, her eyes hot and wide, and wanton...

'Oh, sister...'

Ainariel Fefalas smiled, saying,

'Thus, My Lord Guardian, your vigour and potency now stand fully three-score summers behind you. You are as you were in your springtime in this matter; and so shall remain for countless scores of summers yet to come. Thus, will my sisters embrace in full sum, such depth of pleasuring as they would seek from you, and never the failing.'

Then, with another knowing smile, she turned away; settling into a warm, comfortable lie under the covers as he reached for Feawen, voluptuously and eagerly awaiting him.

The next morning dawned bright and fair. Eldamar awoke; refreshed and relaxed from a night spent enveloped in the soft, and perfumed embrace of the two women, who lay warm and fulfilled, with their arms about him; one to his left-most, and one to his right-most side, in that great, oaken bed. Later, as Eldamar tended Starshadow, making ready for their ride; Ainariel Fefalas spoke with Feawen, saying…

'As you journey east, child; choose not to venture into the Pass of Hestrus, for I see that therein, the Riders of Doom await your coming. For now that you are with child, your powers are waning, and your enchantments will no more prevail. The Lord Eldamar's Old Magick of the West holds no sway in this place. Rather then; at the Bridge of Herlin, take you the right forking of the trackway. This will lead you down into the Vale of Cleigh, and there you shall be safe.'

She continued, saying,

'In the Vale of Cleigh, you shall find the homesteadings of the Cabal of Bradda. These are the warrior maids of the Wiccen Rede upon whom you have not as yet, had need to lay summon in the span of your Stewardship as Keeper. But now, such need stands plain before you, and they will attend you safe passage to Malphaers.'

Then, turning, she spoke to Eldamar, saying,

'Fare thee well, My Lord Guardian; we shall meet again upon your return.'

Eldamar gazed at her,

'Perhaps, t'will be so.'

Ainariel Fefalas, with a soft smile, and knowing eyes, replied,

'You may depend upon it.'

Eldamar and Feawen rode out in the bright of the morning to east, all up through the soft, green valleys of Arfeiniel, and within the span of little above two Sundial-shadows, made approach the Bridge of Herlin. Here the trackway clove in twain. Upon crossing the ancient wooden bridge, some two leagues to east lay the throat of the Pass of Hestrus, and there, just as Ainariel Fefalas had foretold, were four shadowy shapes, silent… unmoving... waiting. At this reach of distance, they were, as, but dark shapes; but Eldamar and Feawen knew full-well that they were the Four Riders of Doom.

The First Horseman would be garbed in White, mounted upon a White horse. The Second Horseman would be garbed in Red, mounted upon a Red horse. The Third Horseman would be garbed in Black, mounted upon a Black horse, and The Forth Horseman would be garbed in Grey, mounted upon a Grey horse. Their faces 'neath their cowls would be, but dark shadows; but their eyes would shine fiery from out of those shadows. And, across the valley came a dreadful, keening howl as they were sighted... the same dreadful, keening howl they had heard that first day upon the Malphaers causeway. Then, The Four Riders came forward at great pace from out of the throat of The Pass of Hestrus.

Eldamar, swiftly cutting away the provision panniers and water bags bestrewing Starshadow and Feawen's Cordach Crossling stallion, cried:

'Ride Girl... Ride for your Life!

And laying heel to flank, they sped in wild, and furious gallop down into The Vale of Cleigh, as if the very Hounds of The Abyss were at their heels.

Onward, League upon League they sped; standing in stirrup, crouching low over the necks of their mounts, with the thunder of The Riders gallop plain in their ears. The Riders of Doom were closing. From out of the corner of his eye, Eldamar perceived that their colours now stood plain and bright in the sunshine. The sands of time were swift running to their ending in this matter. He needs-must soon turn at bay, and embrace the face of his Doom... if only for the sake of the girl.

No sooner had he thought this thought, than they crested a rise in the vale, and there, below them, nestled a parcel of dwellings. Bradda! The homesteading of Bradda. It lay before them, but half-a league-on; compassed by great poled, iron braziers circling it about. Smoke wove lazily from the hearth stands, and all was a vision of tranquility.

With the very breath of The Rider's horses in their ears, they galloped down into the steading, and as they did so... as they passed through the circle of braziers; so then, as one, the braziers burst forth in flaming. And from behind them, came the most dreadful confusion of noise... the clattering and scraping of iron-shod hooves as the Riders reined in their recklessly galloped mounts; the whinny and snort of horses as they reared up pawing the air; and the terrible screaming and snarling fury of the Riders. For they could not pass through; no matter how they circled and wheeled about; the Riders could not pass through the circle of flaming braziers.

Eldamar and Feawen slumped upon their mounts, breathless, and not daring to look back upon the tumult behind them. Then, came a cry from one of the dwellings:

'Come away!... Come away! And cast not gaze behind you. You are safe; the way is closed to them, they may not pass through; yet they may still uncloak their countenances, and take you from where you stand.'

They looked wherefrom the voice came, and there, in the portal of an ample roundhouse hard by to their rightmost hand, stood a warrior maid. She stood above some three, and three-quarter cubits in stature; sturdy and lithe. Her hair was a flaming red, and her eyes were emerald-green. She wore no armour as might be expected of a warrior; but only a fine leather bodice of sorts, across her bosom; tied about her neck and falling free of her shoulders, thence tied across her back. It left small measure to the imagination, compassing her midriff just below the under-curving of her breasts.

Her belly was naked, and she wore for her modesty, a scrap of leather garment; being trifling in measure and fitment; besetting her hips, and spanning only to the gentle undercurve of her belly. She carried no sword, but only a vicious dagger slipped into a belt about her hips. She wore boots that were no boots at all; their full compass finishing at her ankles, and thence, ‘naught but cross-tied leather thongs progressing to her knees.

Eldamar gazed upon her; she was a most comely, and stirring vision. But, this was no time for such thoughts. Swiftly dismounting, and safe tethering their mounts; they entered the roundhouse in accord with the warrior maid's entreatments. Therein, they found a gathering place, where were assembled the full Cabal of Bradda. In number, there were some score, and ten Warrior maids, each and all, garbed in manner, the same, as the first. The first Warrior maid stood to Eldamar, and spoke,

'You are welcome, My Lord Eldamar; as are you, Feawen Arcamen, Keeper of The Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel. I am, by name, Artanis Seregon; being Cabal Mistress of this Company. You are safe here, for a great enchantment has been raised about this place by the Sisters of The Cabal. The Riders of Doom cannot breach the circle of fire, and here, you shall remain in our protection until they have passed by.'

Eldamar gave issue that there was thin span of passing time that he might remain in this place. He had pressing need to prosecute this quest, and the store of provisions out on The Plain of Malphaers was finite in measure of preservation. Artanis Seregon would bide this not as sound argument. Here they would remain until the peril that stood present and clear upon them, had passed. The Cabal were The Guardians of The Keeper of The Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel. The Keeper and her companion would remain here until such time as the Cabal deemed it safe and prudent for them to proceed from this place. There was to be no dispute in this thing. This was how it would lie.

He looked into the green eyes of Artanis Seregon and saw there, the doom of any argument he might think to lay upon her, before he might have chance to lay it. He saw it was ‘naught but wasted breath to palter words with this magnificent creature; t'was as futile as making water in the teeth of the wind.

Resolved to this; Eldamar mused. The Dolmen of Rhonas-Mhoir would still be there, The Dragons of Storien-Rhudd had held such form for two Ages of The Light and two Ages of The Darkness. A few brief moons would make small difference in the quest for The Riddle of The Dread Imposition... that key which would return them to the Dream-form of The High Goddess Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." They were safe from the Riders of Doom in this place, and were made welcome. He held concern though, of the provision caches out on The Plain of Malphaers. This was the seventh day of his quest; and, as he had argued with Artanis Seregon... such caches stood finite in their preservation. More than one, perhaps, two days here, and the last of the victual caches would be spoiled long before they breached the borders of Astalan.

As he pondered this, Artanis Seregon came and sat beside him.

'Art ever so silent, My Lord. Your countenance betrays some prey upon your thoughts.'

Eldamar looked at her; she was a wild one, this Artanis. But now, her emerald-green eyes were soft with concern.

'I was pondering the fettle of the victual caches, and how lengthy a span in passing they will prevail until they be spoiled; for there is far to go, and doubtless thin picking when we ride into Astalan,'

Artanis Seregon smiled, and as she did so, he saw how beautiful she was beneath her stern demeanour;

'Pay that no regard, My Lord, for we shall provision you as you ride; but here, you shall remain until the peril is passed.'

Eldamar sighed,

'Aye Mistress, There is no purpose in fencing with you any more on this. I yield to your advantage. And so I shall retire to my slumber, for it has been a most curious day.'

Artanis smiled again,

'Then I bid you goodnight, My Lord. We shall progress our discourse with our sister Feawen. Sleep you well.'

As she turned away, Eldamar saw her lay a glance from out the corner of her eye towards him; a glance that spoke volumes, yet said not a word. As he closed the latch of the chamber behind him, he wondered just how much sleep he would garner that night; for he knew that look… he knew that look well enough.

Scarce the span of what might have been one Sundial-shadow had passed; when, as Eldamar had expected, there came the sound of the latch of the chamber door being lifted. Casting gaze in that direction, he saw Artanis Seregon slip silently through the door and progress the chamber to his bed. She spoke not a word; reaching behind her back and loosing the tie of her leather bodice; then reaching up and loosing the second tie about her neck. The bodice fell to the floor, as did the trifling scrap of leather that beset her hips as she freed the ties thereto. She stood before him, her glorious figure washed honey-gold in the candle glow.

For a small measure of time she stood before him, as his eyes admired and devoured her, splendid in her nakedness; then she slipped into his bed and reached for him. He saw, and felt that the golden touch of Ainariel Fefalas had been no fleeting enchantment, that night before this; and Artanis saw it too. Her eyes widened in the candle-glow; her lips curved into a sensuous little smile, and she whispered, huskily,

'Oh my… Oh, My Lord…'

Then, swinging her thigh smoothly across his hips, she straddled him complete, as he rose fully to her command.

Later… much later, as she lay softly spent in his arms, he heard the click of the latch softly lifted once more. He looked up over Artanis's tousled head to see Feawen enter the chamber. Seeing Artanis, she smiled.

'My sister is well spent, I see. She has not known the surge of male passion for many moons in passing… but, have you left store enough for me, I wonder?'

Eldamar laughed,

'What? … Here? … Now?'

Feawen gifted him the pretence of a sulky, pouting stare;

'Yes, Here… Now. She has embraced her delight. Now I seek mine.'

Swiftly disrobing, she slipped into bed beside him, her hand gently exploring him;

'Mmm, more than enough, I think.'

She whispered,

'Our dance tonight shall be slow and gentle, so we do not awaken her; see, she sleeps like a babe, and t'were a shame to rouse her… for she might have a mind to usurp my pleasuring; now… no more words.'

Then reaching for him, she pulled him to her.

The morning dawned; streaming golden, through the casement. Eldamar roused; and there was Feawen, sleeping sweetly in his arms. Artanis was not there; she had slipped away sometime in the night. There came a knock upon the chamber door, and therein stepped Artanis, bearing two goblets.

'Good-morrow, My Lord; Good-morrow, sister. Here is Elderflower cordial to refresh you as you waken.'

Feawen murmured something sleepily, and nuzzled her head back down into Eldamar's shoulder. Artanis smiled,

'T'would seem my sister is something of a sleepy-head this fine morning, My Lord. T'would also seem that sweet tryst shared with you is better by far than the sturdiest of sleeping potions!'

And she gifted him that look once again. Eldamar smiled,

'And how pray did you sleep, Mistress Artanis?'

He saw the sweetest blush spring to her cheeks… the blush of a dog-rose petal in early springtime.

'I slept well, My Lord; methinks I may sup of this potion again.'

And he read in her eyes... her beautiful green eyes, that here there lay no jest. At the door of the chamber she paused, her hand upon the latch. She gazed at him, and he saw in her eyes, that look yet again; then she gave the slimmest of little smiles; stepped without, and closed the door.

All that day, the Riders of Doom prowled around and about the settlement of Bradda. Time and again, they tried to breach the circle of braziers; time and again, they failed. The enchantment woven by the Sisters of The Cabal was a sturdy bastion against the Riders' designs. As the day progressed, with the Sundial creeping its shadow around, it was seen that, on occasion, a Rider would detach from the prowl and decamp away. In this, was small doubt that somewhere distant, there was prey to be had, and that some misfortunates would soon enough, embrace their doom. But never did the White Rider depart. Always, he was there; circling and prowling about the circlet of braziers that burned bright in their constancy.

Meantime; Eldamar was being attended as if he were some Deity; being the only male for the sum of some hundreds of leagues all about. The Cabal maids beset him with sturdy cosset; bringing him the choicest morsels of food, the smoothest of wines, and even... though, from whence, could not be imagined... a pipe and tobacco-leaf. And in each Maid's eyes, he read plain, the same look that he had seen in the eyes of Artanis, that first night that she came to him.

All through that day, as the maids came in attend of his smallest whim, he saw in their eyes the same words, plainly said, yet not spoken at all. With some, these unspoken words stood naked and wanton; with others, they were cloaked with sweet blush, and eyes that whispered from beneath lowered lashes. It mattered not at all, if such unspoken words stood soft-cloaked in modesty, or stood brazen and naked; the meaning was the same. In this, there stood plain the certainty that he would, as like, garner, but slender a store of slumber in the soft of the nights that lay before him while he remained in this place.

Eldamar gave a most heartsome sigh; then he slowly smiled a wry smile. For to his remembrance came the thought which he had pondered, that first time he had stood in the Halls of The Keeper of The Dread Imposition at the Dragon eyrie of Storien-Rhudd, and had looked upon The Keeper... this ancient Mor-Loki; this black dragon, fully beset with countless years and compassed about by young female dragons in number, who tended his every wont or smallest need.

He smiled in rueful remembrance of how he had thought wryly, if this were then, dotage… then, this was a fortunate Loki, indeed! Perhaps, if this be dotage that beset him now, in this place; then the ancient, and decrepit Mor-Loki was not so fortunate as he had at first imagined! There was no tell as to the span of time he needs must remain here; and there were a score, and ten of these young and nubile Cabal maidens; each and all, with their designs to his company standing plain in their eyes. Further; if they were all beset with the eager avidness such as Artanis possessed, why then, t'were as like he needs-must be borne out of here upon a litter; a sad, ruined husk of what he had been when first he came to this place. 'Aye, if this be dotage, then perhaps, much might be said for solitary old age!

That night, as darkness made huddle the corners of the chamber, there came the sound that he knew would come; the soft click of the latch. Before him stood a young, and slender Cabal maid. He knew of her as being the youngling of the Cabal, scarce above a dozen and seven summers in holding of span; with long pale-golden tresses, and deep sapphire blue eyes... Ranewen; 'aye, that was her name. Keeping her eyes firmly upon his face, she divested herself of her leather bodice, and loosing the ties... let the scrap of leather garment besetting her hips slip to the floor. Still holding his eyes with hers, she bestowed him a tiny, shy smile and slipped into the bed beside him. She was boyishly framed, yet, none the less, woman full-grown. She searched his face with her eyes full of innocence and trust, and her cheeks full of blushing. She whispered,

'I await your pleasure, My Lord; for I would have you tutor me in these Arts.'

Eldamar knew he must now progress her needs with the most singular care and gentleness; but then, even as this thought stood firm in his mind, she softly slipped her hand down beneath the covers. Her eyes, and whispers were innocent... but her fingers most certainly, were not. For in Ranewen, the touch of her hand upon him had stirred in her, the instincts of a wanton; and small measure of tutoring needed here. When, at length, Eldamar had appeased her demands upon him… the fulfilment of her every need; he lay there, and imagined this might be as it would feel, had he been trampled upon by a squadron of cavalry. Ranewen smiled sleepily at him. She murmured:

'I was pleasing to you, My Lord? For in truth, you were so very pleasing to me.'

Eldamar looked to her, to make answer; but she had nestled down into his arms, and was sound a'slumber; a soft, and contented smile playing about her lips. Her heart beating soft and steady against his chest lulled him gently away, as he too, embraced the drift of slumber.

Seemingly, half a world away; his senses were stirred by the click of the latch being lifted. He gazed towards the door and saw it was Artanis. She stood in the doorway, clad in the most gossamer of chemise; the pale light from without, showing her voluptuousness in plain sight through the flimsy fabric. She made approach, and as Eldamar made to speak, she laid finger to lips, whispering:

'Hush! I have come to you to sup again of our sleeping potion, My Lord.'

Then, letting slip her chemise to the floor, she softly joined him, taking care not to disturb the sweetly slumbering Ranewen. Gazing at her, Artanis gently smiled,

'I trust, My Lord, you have shepherded her gently as she embraced her womanhood to the full measure?… La, I have but to study her face to see that it is so.'

Then, with her hands upon his shoulders, pressing him into the bed gently, but firmly, so as not to waken slumbering Ranewen; she made straddle his hips in plain tell of that which she sought of him this night. With her eyes closed, and her little white teeth pressed into her nether lip, she began to move, gently and slowly; subjugating him to her designs in the taking of her pleasure.

It seemed forever, until Artanis had taken her fill of pleasuring. At last, she released him, and lay beside him, her heart pounding, and her breathing swift and shallow. She curled up against him, and was soon lost in slumber. Little Ranewen had slumbered throughout, and now, Eldamar was weary-worn; his old bones complaining, and his muscles creaking. Then… t'was beyond the realms of reason and belief… the latch clicked again.

Into the chamber crept Feawen. Eldamar gave a silent groan, Yet again? He looked into her eyes and saw there, the answer to his question. She made beckon with her finger. He eased out from the embrace of the two slumbering maids, and painfully accomplished the floor. She led him to another chamber, where he made slump upon the bed. She gifted him a little soft smile.

'See now, the true nature of the female, My Lord Guardian; their licentiousness is most times, held covert; but when it bursts forth it is blinding in its brilliance.'

Eldamar groaned,

'Aye, there is the truth of it; and for my part, I am as wrung-out as fresh-stoned washing.'

Feawen gifted him a little soft laugh, and lay beside him.

'Poor love, come, pillow your head upon my bosom, and rest in my arms awhile.'

He lay there, drifting somewhere between slumber and waking, warm in her embrace. As he languished in this place, Feawen very gently slipped her hand down his body, and began to stroke him very gently… very softly. He drifted slowly back to wakening, feeling her cool fingers teasing, coaxing him to the full measure of the demands of her pleasuring. In that little chamber she was wild and wanton in her demands, and yet again, the enchantment of Ainariel Fefalas prevailed until at last, they fell into weary and spent slumber, wrapped in each other's arms.

In the morning, Eldamar laid the question of suspicion upon Feawen. What then, was this plot hatched among the Cabal maids and her? Was he expected to pleasure them all, one after the other? And, if so, how many might he expect of a night? And only in the night? Or would they pillage him in the daytime as well? For here, he smelled a sisterly connivance. Feawen laid a sweet, and gentle smile upon him. Did he not remember the words of Ainariel Fefalas?... The Covenant long since held that there shall be no singular bonding, nor rancour because of the lack of it, in this land. That he was free to progress such females as would desire of him so to do; and none then, to stand forth with the eye that shone with greenness, in this matter?

Eldamar sighed; 'aye, he remembered; but he had not thought it would be his fate to be laid to stud quite so swiftly, and most certainly, not with such a gathering of young and nubile maids. T'was hard pressing to keep pace with one such maid, let alone two or three of a night! Feawen giggled,

'I hold no issue with this thing; I am content beyond my wildest dreaming with your attentions, My Lord.'

Eldamar sighed again. Feawen threw her arms about him and kissed him.

'My Hero! Be not downhearted; they all love you for your gentle grace and tender prowess.'

Within the circled settlement of Bradda; still, the braziers burned; still the shadowy horsemen prowled the vales and the hills, and still came the maids to Eldamar's bed... an ever changing vision of eager maids; voluptuous, slender; dark-haired, blonde, red-haired. Names that came and went, and came again... Nella, Andune, and Earane; Nienna and Taranis… Anarane; then Eldarwen, and Ciranelle; little Ranewen… Ciryatan, Malandra, Larien; then Elanor, Tari; Helemire, and Sara. So many names, so much feminine warmth and eager attention; and without failing, each night, as surely as the Moon would rise in the east… would come Artanis and Feawen.

The maids came to him singly, or sometimes in pairs; and one frightening night he needs must accommodate the desires of four, one after the other; and always, there would come Artanis and Feawen. Each morning, he looked out in forlorn hope, and each morning he saw the braziers still burned. He elected that should he ever ride back through the valley of the Hills of Tillethmhor, he might well strangle Ainariel Fefalas, in receipt for her "Golden Gift." But then, he gave a rueful smile. Perhaps, he would not; for this were indeed, a wild dream of youth that all aspired to, but few ever managed to accomplish.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So it was; in the Settlement of Bradda; that which, to those in their springtimes, would be called the wildest of dreams; but to those beset by their autumns, might well be called the sturdiest of nightmares, was played out for the span of twelve moons.

On the thirteenth morning, Eldamar crept from his bed, stiff of muscle, and cramped of sinew. The night had been spent tending the eager desires and demands of two lithe, and nubile Cabal maids; Malandra, a sweet, but lissom wanton; and Tari, gentle... but insatiable. Then, as always, Artanis and Feawen came in seek of his arms. Artanis; who, two times in three; held a dominant, and wanton humour, was in such humour this night, and had prosecuted the same in stern, and lengthy measure. Then, she had softly slipped away as he lay crushed by her passion.

Feawen came to him in a slender span of time; but seeing his weary-worn demeanour, had nestled down beside him, and gently... softly, had begun to take of her pleasure, as she had each night, since they had been together. This night, there had been no wild abandon nor wanton excess; it had been lengthy and unhurried. But she had prosecuted her pleasuring to its zenith, none the less.

Each morning, Eldamar had gazed from the casement, and this morning was the same. He wandered to the casement, and gazed thereout; his mind befuddled, and his gaze vague. Then, suddenly, he came wide-awake. This morning, the circlet of braziers blazed not. There was no flaming... they were quenched! Swiftly, he stepped to the pitcher and bowl upon the low table, which contained the water with which they might refresh themselves, upon waking. The water was icy cold... all the better to clear the misting from the excesses of the night that clouded his thoughts. As he washed himself, standing naked before the table, there came a sleepy voice to his ears:

'Eldamar… Your poor back! T'is scratched and scraped as if you were unhorsed into a bramble patch.'

Half-turning, he looked to Feawen, still sleepy in the bed.

'Aye, t'is the tally of the score for your sisterly connivance, girl; but I have had worse.'

Turning, he looked behind, and beyond his shoulder to the image of his back, that lay plain in the looking glass upon the wall; and as he did so, he needs must present his nakedness to Feawen. Alas; for there, stood the ruination of his modesty. His washing in the icy water had kindled yet again, the enchantment of Ainariel Fefalas in most ample of measure. Seeing him thus, Feawen smiled slowly, her eyes wide and mischievous. Eldamar spoke; his voice bluff…

'You may put such thought as your eyes betray, from out of your mind, girl; we needs must prepare to depart this place whilst I yet possess sturdiness of frame so to do.'

Feawen made brave effort to gift him a gainsaying pout, but her embrace of success in this was of dismal measure; she fell back in the bed, beset by helpless giggles. Eldamar made effort to appear stern, but could not accomplish this thing, and as he laughed, the latch soft clicked, and into the chamber came Artanis, bearing the two goblets of Elderflower cordial, as had become the morning custom.

Seeing him as he was, her eyes widened, and a little smile beset her lips.

'And you too, may put such thoughts from out your mind, girl.'

She pulled a face,

'Pshaw! And I had thought you not one to forbear the inclinations of a maid, My Lord.'

Eldamar gazed wryly at her,

'Ha! Methinks your inclinations have been well tended these past dozen nights, would you not say?'

Feawen, now fully beset with helpless giggling; bravely strove for word,

'He has you there, Sister. An' I were you, I would progress this no further!'

Artanis cast a petulant stare at Feawen, and then slowly smiled a soft, and truthful smile;

'T'is true; I have been very well tended, My Lord; and I thank you for it; T'is pity you needs must ride away, for were it my choosing, I would keep you here forever.'

Eldamar laughed,

'Were your choose to come to passing; and should your maids and you, elect to pillage me in manner the same that you have done these past nights; why then, forever might well be most swift in the spending.'

Artanis smiled,

'Aye, My Lord, but this was a needful thing we imposed upon you. Who knows when we shall see another male in this stricken Realm? The need stood plain that we must bring forth daughters while we still embrace our early summer days, so that we may instruct them in the ways of the Cabal of Bradda. Only in this, may we pass down to the next warrior maids of the Wiccen Rede the knowing of their Sacred duties. If the Great Mother has smiled upon us, this past parcel of nights; then, before comes the golden tumble of the leaves, there will be many swelling bellies in this place; and for this, My Lord, we thank you.'

Eldamar and Feawen made ready to depart. As she was pulling on her breeches, Feawen smiled, as she beheld Eldamar standing in only his drawers, at his ablutions.

'These nights have served you well, My Lord; see… your muscles are tautened and toned. Why… your little paunchy pot is lost; your belly is as flat as one who holds not above a score of summers!'

Eldamar turned, raising eyebrow at her;

'Perhaps… but what then, the cost? For I ache as though I have recently crossed blade with a cohort of sword-masters.'

Feawen smiled, a secret and sensual smile; saying...

'Fear not; I have a most singular cure for your aches as you may embrace in those cold nights that lie before us, out on The Plain of Malphaers; and were it not a cure, then it will most certainly be a remedy for forgetting.'

Eldamar sighed;

'Your virtue is beyond all hope of redemption, Feawen Arcamen.'

She stepped to him; clad as yet, in naught but her breeches. Standing upon her tip of toe; twining her arms about his neck, with her pert breasts pressing soft and warm against his chest, she laughed... a soft and beguiling laugh; her eyes shining.

'You are doubtless, pleased to say, My Lord?'

Gazing into those dark and depthless eyes, he smiled slowly and gently, lay his hands about her slender waist; her soft skin delighting the touch of his fingertips.

'Most certainly, I am doubtless pleased to say; as well you know.'

Without the dwelling place, two Cabal maids had harnessed and saddled Starshadow and Feawen's Cordach Crossling stallion in preparation for their departure. Artanis attended them, as did all the Cabal Maids, to wish them fair speed. Water and victual bags were hung about their saddles; more than enough to see them out to The Plain of Malphaers, where Artanis had said there would be stores waiting; carried forth by the Cabal to support them. Having made their farewells, Eldamar and Feawen rode out to east; away from the settlement of Bradda. As they passed through the circlet of braziers that flamed no more; there were many of the warrior maids of the Wiccen Rede who let tumble a gentle tear in farewell to Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light.

They rode to the east for some eight leagues, and then turned into the south, following the course of the little tinkling stream Artanis had called by name, Gelmirbeck. This little stream led out towards The Plain of Malphaers, and they could replenish their water pouches here. The water was pure and sweet. They rode the bright of the morning. It was uncommonly hot down this little valley; the air was sultry with pollen from the endless stands of Golden Rod that mantled the floor of the valley. There were few trees to gift shade; the beck had long since plunged beneath the ground, and soon enough, their water pouches were close on spent. No matter, they would strike Malphaers within the span of a Sundial-shadow, and there, would be the eighth provision cairn awaiting them, with water aplenty.

A Sundial shadow span in passing, and the Plain appeared at the throat of the little valley. Turning to east, they spied the eighth cairn. Lokari had prosecuted this task with great care. At the cairn, Eldamar tumbled the stones and lifted out the first water pouch. Breaking the seal about its neck, he offered Starshadow to drink. Starshadow tossed his head away from the proffer of water from the pouch that Eldamar held to him. He would not drink of it. Eldamar was puzzled at this; he tried again... still Starshadow would not drink. Then, sharp as a blade, came the realising. It must be polluted. Dropping the water pouch he ran to Feawen, calling for her not to drink... too late! She had already taken of the water from the second pouch. She spoke; her eyes curious,

'T'was sweet, my Lord, I found no fault here. The seal was not breached.'

Nonetheless, no more water would be taken from this cache, for Starshadow had sensed something was amiss. And so it was.

That night, as they made camp, Feawen was protesting of a sturdy aching in her head, and she was warm... uncommonly warm. She lay in his arms that night, first shivering, and then sweating. A hacking cough had crept upon her, and she protested aches all about her body. Eldamar knew it was the water. Perhaps it would pass if he tended her carefully. Yet, in his heart, he knew what this might be; though he dare not bring himself to believe the same. He had seen this before; back in the days of the Great Suhai War. This ague was brought about by foul,and tainted water ... the White Hag, as it was called. This ague took three in five. He needs- must watch carefully for the signs; for there was small chance of a cure if it was this thing.

In the morning, she had worsened. The bright of the morning offended her eyes, and her countenance was pallid. She whimpered with the pain in her muscles. So... t'was the White Hag. There was 'naught Eldamar might do, save hold her in his arms, and give her to drink the last of the Leissor water from out the wells of Rhom that he had carried since that first day. Three days and three nights, he held her like this as she burned with fever, or shivered with chill. The redness of rash had begun to appear. She began to see things about her that were not there; trembling in his arms at sight of her imaginings. Then, on the fourth day, the grey horseman appeared.

He sat upon the hillside upon his grey horse, His face 'neath his cowl was, but a dark shadow; but his eyes shone fiery, from out of the shadow. He sat upon his grey horse, unmoving and silent... waiting. Feawen was fading swiftly. As he looked into her face, she opened her eyes... bright with the fever, and whispered to Eldamar,

'His face... I see his face. He has come to take me from you. I am lost. Remember me, My Lord; for I truly loved you.'

Then, before Eldamar might say a word; her eyes dimmed, and a soft, Golden glow appeared behind her paling lips.

The grey horseman spurred mount forward; Eldamar unsheathed his mighty Guardian sword... "Eithelhwen"... "Wellspring of Algethi Light." Standing between Feawen and the grey Rider of Doom, and raising "Eithelhwen" in the bright of the morning; he cried in a great voice,

'Get thee gone from this place, dread Shade of Pestilence and Doom. You shall not have her; she is not yours for the taking.'

And "Eithelhwen" shimmered with the Power of The Light.

The grey horseman turned, wheeling away, and Eldamar heard the same dreadful keening howl as the rider faded into nothingness. He swiftly turned back, and knelt to Feawen. Her Charas gently freed itself from her lips and rose... a shining Golden Orb. Then, it paused and floated to him; touched his cheek, and rose again; then, it paused once more.

Now, came something Eldamar had heard tell whispered by the old women; but, which, in truth, scarce-ever espied. There came a second glow from betwixt her lips, and a tiny Golden Orb rose out. It floated above her; then timidly it seemed; made approach to Eldamar. Touching his cheek, it lingered there before him. He knew, without doubting, that this was the Charas of his unborn daughter. Perhaps, she was curious to touch the father that she would never live to know. Then gently, the tiny Golden Orb rose up to greet in mingle and meld with the Charas of its Mother. As one, they rose away as the Song of Sathulinan whispered softly on the morning breeze.

Eldamar remained there a sturdy span of time in passing; cradling Feawen in his arms as she grew cold; with the tears wet upon his face. At last, he lay her down and began to gather stones. She needs-must be cairned, and this place of her passing would do well enough. He scoured a hollow some half-cubit in deeping, and gently laid her therein. She was no sword-maid, so it mattered not that he had no blade to lay upon her; but some garland was needed. There were no Moonflower blossoms growing here... none would be expected to flourish out on this desolate Plain; but there were dog roses in abundance. He fashioned a garland from the delicate blossoms; not concerning himself with the scratches he gathered from the sharp briar thorns. When it was done, he gently laid the garland about her brow... the blossoms softly blushing pink, as had her cheeks as she lay in his arms but a few short Sundial shadow-spans ago. Gently and sturdily he cairned her; her cairn stout and buttressed. Then turning away, he whispered,

'Fare thee well, Little One; upon your journey to "Carmanthyr"… The Tranquil Island; for you truly were a sweet delight.'

Then, his face set with stern and cold countenance, he made probing of the water pouches making part of the sum of this eighth provision cairn.

Just as he had deemed, they bore traces of meddle. Each water pouch had held a seal emplaced by Lokari back in Rhom. On these water pouches, the cord had been sundered, and then re-woven. This was a most cunning endeavour... for one who had ridden thirty-leagues would not espy this meddle, 'less he was seeking it... knowing it was there. 'Nay, he would be more eager to take of the fresh Rhom water.

Eldamar split the pouch from which Feawen had taken drink, and there! T'were a biting louse lying dead, in the pit of the pouch... a biting louse of the most perilous breed; the breed that bore across its back, a cross of reddish hue. An Emissary of the White Hag, and no doubt of that; no doubt at all. There was no means by which such a Harbinger of Doom might gain incursion to the depths of the pouch. It had been wilfully emplaced therein. As it had perished, then the ague it carried had suffused the water, befouling the whole.

Eldamar split the remain of the water pouches; each carried the same. This smelled of a plot hatched in The Abyss. This bore the hand of Baelar, "The Lord of The Underdark." This was a doom meant for Eldamar alone; a doom that had been embraced by an innocent maid in his stead. And now, Eldamar knew anger ... anger as like he had left behind, those long summers in passing, after he had lost Mirien Goldenwand.

He took possession of the Talisman of Maeglin... though what use it would now be was of thin prospect. He mounted Starshadow, and with Feawen's Cordach crossling stallion in loose reined tether to his saddle, galloped away to the east. And around the cairn of Feawen Arcamen, Keeper of the Wiccen Rede of Arfeiniel; the whimpering winds off The Plain of Malphaers whispered their mournful lullaby as she embraced the Great Sleep.

As Eldamar rode to the east, he was beset with a great burden of unease that wrapped itself about him in manner of a shroud. He held his grieving over the losing of Feawen close about him, but there was more; much more. Who had polluted the water pouches? Who had the knowing of his quest, and plotted to confound the same? Who had watched him as he forged into the east? Was the losing of Feawen a calculated act, or simple mischance? He rode on, much troubled by this conundrum that sat upon him, taunting his thoughts.

What he could not know; indeed, that, which none in the Shining Lands could know; was that The Mordbrood of Valdarthost had been, but a Foray Host... no more indeed, than an enticement to measure the strength and resolve of The Forces of The Light. What lurked to the east was a thing that none would have visioned in their wildest night terrors.

In The Dominion of Valdarthost, which lay deep to easterly-south... round and about what were once the southern-most reaches of the half-forgotten Realm of Malardhonrhun which had bounded all of the lands that would become Astalan and the northern parts of the Old Suhai Kingdom; there had arisen a terrible Warlord. This creature was Horanaurk; a black, mongrel Darkling; being Suhai, thrice interbred with Taraks, and the dreaded Ranulugs, that sucked on the marrow from bones of the dead. This Horanaurk was called, by name… Berenvag; who had seized absolute power in this tumultuous land by murder and mayhems; by plot and persecution; until all those who would challenge his self-perceived dominance were destroyed - even to the last one. Then he gathered about himself the cloak of tyranny, surrounding himself with a bodyguard of lesser Horanaurks that were called "Tur-anion"... who subjected all to his will.

Beyond this, he raised a dreadful scourge to those who decried his tyranny. This was a wing of his followers who were called "The Galdor of Valdarthost," whose remit was to suppress and crush any shadow or hint of disloyalty in action, word, or even thought; to the Dominion of Berenvag. Such miscreants were taken by the Galdor Huskers; tortured and mutilated, and then hung about the walls of his Citadel in chains as a dreadful warning to others.

Thus, the Dominion of Berenvag stood complete. His Armies stood at some one hundred,and fifty-thousand, merciless Horanaurks to be unleashed wherever he so chose. He was for The Darkness; and in the seeing, The Dreadful, Dark Entity: "Baelar," rejoiced in this thing. Now; could the Dreaming of The High Goddess Elaiana be tumbled to ruin. Now; could the Dreadful "Sath-Ninduru"... the terrible, creeping "Night of the Shadows Rising" be laid upon Amriath, and the West; with all plunged in back into Chaos, as it had been long ago in The Age of Beginnings.

But; it was not to be. Berenvag had despatched The Mordbrood of Valdarthost into Astalan to pillage and burn, to plunder and rape; to slaughter all they found who might at length, raise a sword against the will of Berenvag. And in this, there was small sport. All that were there to be found were farmers and homesteaders; women and maidens, and ploughboys; those who could be vanquished with less discomfit than breaking wind in trailment of a hearty gluttoning. So it was; they turned their eyes into the west, intent on richer pickings. And in the west, they met their doom; for here, there were no mere farmers and homesteaders; women and maidens, and ploughboys. Here, were The Forces of The Oneness of The Light. Here, was The Mordbrood destroyed; even to the last one.

Baelar raged at this perceived betrayal of his will, and elected that Berenvag would taste the full depth of his reprisals should the Horanaurk tyrant fail to manifest the destruction complete of those who would defy the Will of The Darkness. Of all of these; this insolent Guardian by name: Eldamar, held the greatest significance.

Baelar despatched two Shadow-Wraiths; who waylaid, and assassinated a pair of Wiccen Rede warrior maids of the Cabal of Bradda, who were out on patrol. The Shadow-Wraiths then assumed the form of these misfortunate maids, and guilefully insinuated themselves into the bosom of the Cabal; there to await the coming of Eldamar and Feawen Arcamen. For Baelar knew of the quest, and also… he knew of the Talisman of Maeglin, carried by Feawen; and elected to seek the purpose to which it would be put.

This then; was an echo of the first Shadow-Wraith that Baelar had despatched on such an endeavour; being the Shadow-Wraith cloaked as a beautiful young maid sent to prosecute the seduction of the Great King Elrohir Telrunya of Malardhonrhun. This subterfuge had been laid to gain possession of the Sword of Light, "Runya en Numen"… "Citadel of The Eternal Truth," from out of his keeping.

The Two Shadow-Wraiths came to Eldamar in the night, in manner as did the other Cabal maids. These two Shadow-Wraiths were mentored specific, by Baelar in the weaknesses of Man and Algethi; and now, the two Wraiths... taking the place and form of the assassinated Cabal maids, Anarane and Eldarwen; possessed singular artistry in diverse distractions and amusements of abandoned carnality.

They had come to Eldamar in the soft of the night more than once; be it singly, or together; and had invoked their virtuosity with guileful purpose, to elicit the whereabouts of the Talisman, and the designs which he held for its usage. When such informations were not forthcoming, the Wraiths resolved to destroy this Eldamar, and thus, put an end to his quest. This could not be done in this place, and so, a most cunning and disrelishing plot was hatched.

The Wraiths, cloaked as Anarane and Eldarwen; had shared companionship with the other Cabal maids, and had heard tell, in midst of the maids chatter; of a most reviled Algethi who was thought to yet prevail in the far reaches of this slighted Kingdom. This miscreant Algethi was reviled by all the maids. They called him a disgusting abomination; and had there been the merest shred of proof of his suspected turpitude; they would have put him to the sword many moons since past. The Wraiths listened; and the tell was this:

The aberrant Algethi; by name, Tarelom, it was whispered; was of loathsome countenance... being red, and wet of lip; sweaty of hand, and singularly fleshy of stature. Were that not enough; he was coarse, and debauched of manner. No maid being possessed of the merest trace of self-esteem would deign to dally with him.

Thus shunned; the suspicion was that he had taken to molesting youngling females. For although Algethi, by their very nature, are licentious; certain binding precepts are laid down as to their demeanour. The foremost of these is, that no female holding less than ten, and six summers will to be laid siege to, with carnal intent, even though she may lay bid of the same.

It is not uncommon for youngling Algethi females to embrace their womanhood as young as perhaps, twelve summers; and there was a certain presentiment that the loathsome Tarelom had debauched some holding scarcely this slender span. Nothing was ever proven; no victims ever came forth, for whatever reason; but the suspicion lay fat, upon and about him. Here, the Wraiths saw, as if, a gift laid before them. One night they decamped, and shed the forms of Anarane and Eldarwen, but retained the Charas of the maids to feed upon. At some distant farmsteading, they then abducted from their beds, and despatched two youngling females, and assumed their forms. Then, they went seeking Tarelom.

The dissolute Tarelom was awakened in his bed by what appeared to him, as two precocious and wanton, youngling females seeking his attentions. These were choice morsels indeed, to his eyes... seeming neither, to hold above ten, and four summers. They most swiftly and eagerly abandoned themselves to the embrace of the lewdest defilements his perverted lust could imagine. They cozened him complete; even to concocting tear tumble, and little whimpers to sharpen his lust, as he plundered what he imagined were their tender bodies. Then, as he lay in his sate, they sprang the trap about him. They lay threat that they would tell all of what happened here, this night, unless he bowed to their will.

Tarelom was terrified of their threat. The Wiccen Rede had heard tell of the Justice of the Ice Queen Cirion of Shandalar in the matter of rape and pillage, and of the retribution of slow gelding gifted to the Shandalarian, Gilmar the Meditor in The Corries of Thar. The Wiccen Rede had embraced Her Justice complete, in the Realm of Arfeiniel, and his fate would be the same.

What he had enjoyed this night would be beyond even rape and pillage in their eyes. He would be condemned out of hand. Slow gelding might well be the least of the impositions he would garner for his depravity. He knew he must now embrace whatever these two wantons demanded of him. They told him it was simple-plain; all he need do was to meddle with the water pouches in the caches that lay on The Plain of Malphaers in attend of a rider coming from out of the west.

To this end, they furnished him with a phial containing a score of biting louses… the most perilous breed; the ones that bore across their backs, a cross of reddish hue. One was to be emplaced in each pouch. T'was as simple as that, and once done, no more would be said of what happened here this night. Then the two Wraiths had decamped, and at a distance, shed the sad, ruined husks of the two younglings, and had vanished into the night.

Eldamar rode on. His store of water was fading swiftly, and he hoped the next victuals cache would be unspoiled. As it came into sight, there before him was a parcel of riders, gathered about the victual cairn. He saw it was Artanis Seregon, and three of her Cabal maids. She called to him,

'Well met, My Lord; we have brought the supplies as we agreed, but where is Feawen Arcamen? What has befallen you in your ride?'

Eldamar told of what had happened; of how the water was polluted, and by what it was so polluted. He told of how Feawen had been taken by the White Hag, and how she was cairned some twenty leagues to the west. He told of how he had seen the Charas of his unborn daughter rise out, and touch his face, then join the Charas of her Mother, and together, rise to the song of Sathulinan. Artanis Seregon sat silent, hearkening this thing. Her beautiful green eyes became cold, and dangerous, and her demeanour became hard and grim. Then she spoke; her voice soft with scarce-curbed anger.

'These water pouches are untainted. Drink you your fill, and then, follow us to eastwards. We spied tracks about here, and we shall ride down this assassin of our sister.'

Then she and her companions laid heel to flank and galloped into the east.

Eldamar watered Starshadow and the Cordach crossling stallion, and drank deep from the remaining water pouch. Then victualling enough for the next ride, he turned into the east once again. The tracks of Artanis Seregon and her Cabal maids lay plain before him. By their lie, they were riding hard and fast. He was a little less troubled now, but the dubiety of whom would do this thing still sat upon him with stern weighting. He rode the day; the seeming endless plain stretching before him. Nothing moved... except once; just the once, he spied a great bird in the skies. Might it be Calelindi's great eagle out of Calverstock? But, he saw it was not. It was some Kite 'nor Buzzard, for the stand of its wings was not that of an eagle. He watched it wheel and circle away to the southerly-east until it was lost to his sight.

He paused a pair of times to give water to Starshadow and the Cordach crossling, but, all around there was nothing; this was indeed, a stale, and colourless ride! He rode in this humour for the span of some five Sundial-shadows; then suddenly, his brooding was torn from him by a thin scream carried on the wind from somewhere forward. He spurred Starshadow on, and galloped further into the east. There, to his sight came the tenth victual cache, and there too, was Artanis Seregon and her Cabal maids. They had entrapped someone, or something.

As he reined in, he saw it was an Algethi... an Algethi of most repugnant demeanour; being red and wet of lip, and singularly fleshy of stature. Who cowered before Artanis, pinioned by her Cabal maids. The Algethi was sweating profusely, his guilt and fear wrapping him about as like some winter cloak. Eldamar stepped forward, and Artanis spoke; her voice sharp as a blade:

'Think not to interfere, Guardian; this vermin is the one who brought about the death of our sister. See here…'

And she held out the phial of biting louses to his view. Then, her Cabal maids stripped the terrified Algethi of his breeches and pinioned him, spread in full stretch upon the ground. She spoke again:

'Know you now; this is the barbarian Algethi, Tarelom; Molester of younglings, despoiler of innocents. We have waited long to settle the score with this one. We snared him in the act of polluting your water pouches, and now he shall pay the sum of the score.'

One of the Cabal maids had brought forth a sturdy flat rock which she placed betwixt his splayed legs. With her sword tip, she lifted his privities and slipped the rock beneath. Artanis brought forth from her pannier, a war-hammer of perhaps, ten cloves in weighting, and stood above the screaming Tarelom. Then, she spoke;

'This then, is your catechism for all the innocents you have debauched; you who are not worthy to be called Algethi.'

And she swung the hammer, and brought it hard down upon his privities, spattering and crushing them upon the rock emplaced betwixt his legs.

A great shriek echoed the cliffs as he bucked and writhed, spurting blood from his ruination. But they had not finished with him. A rope was lashed to each arm and each leg, and then wound about their saddle pommels. Artanis and her maids mounted, and trotted forward, each in an opposing direction. The shrieking Algethi was lifted from the ground, in suspension betwixt the ropes. Artanis spoke again,

'And, this is your tally for the killing of our sister…'

Then the four maids laid heel to flank, and he began to scream... a scream that tore at the senses. Slowly, he was stretched as the four steeds strained at the ropes. His eyes bulged... as like, they would tumble from out of his head, and his mouth was a great screeching maw. With a terrible wet, tearing noise and shriekings as might only be imagined; Tarelom the Molester was slowly torn into four pieces, embracing a doom that was not swift. The portion of his carcass that held his head still screamed and shrieked as the other three parts were dragged distantly from it. The four maids wheeled about and returned. The ropes were loosed and thrown down, and the torn remains of his carcass were heaved down into the chasm.

Artanis cast orders to her comrades. The Cordach Crossing was to be taken back to the settlement of Bradda. She would ride on to Astalan with Eldamar, and in her stead, Elanor would stand as Mistress of Cabal until her return. The provisions were to be ridden out to meet them, even to the borders of Astalan. She cast gaze at Eldamar, who saw again, the look he had seen that first day at the settlement of Bradda; the look, where lay the doom of any argument he might think to lay upon her, before he might have happenstance to lay it.

Turning Starshadow, he rode on eastwards in company with Artanis. She still wore the fine leathern bodice of sorts, across her bosom; tied about her neck and falling free of her shoulders... thence tied across her back. Still, it left small measure to the imagination, compassing her midriff just below the under-curving of her breasts. The scrap of leather garment besetting her hips, being trifling in measure and fitment, was now discarded, and instead, she wore tight leathern breeches.

Discarded too, were the boots that were no boots at all; their full compass finishing at her ankles, and thence, 'naught but cross-tied leather thongs progressing to her knees. Now, she wore sturdy war-boots, plated about and capped of toe with metal. She wore this day, not the vicious dagger; but a sword, belted about her waist... a sword in fashion, much like a fleshing knife of the style the Thuvian butchers used for boning meat. It stood close, as sturdy in measure as a Long sword; curving up at the point, where there was no point, but only the furthest measure of the cutting edge.

As they rode; Eldamar remarked that he was pleased with her company, for all he had seen since he had laid Feawen to her rest was a kite... or perhaps, a buzzard; wheeling and circling out over the Plain. Hearing this, Artanis's eyes became hard, and watchful. She gazed about the skies in most singular a manner. Eldamar, curious, spoke...

'Artanis, what troubles you with this tell? T'was but, a bird upon the wing.'

She replied,

'Not so, My Lord; there are no creatures such as you have espied, here upon this Plain. There is nothing here for them to hunt. This was some spy; some Darkling deceit. We needs-must gather sturdy prudence about us like a cloak, and ride with singular guile as we progress forwardly.'

Watchful now, they rode the day. There was no sight of anything that moved in this place, and soon, and enough, they came upon the eleventh victual cache, which they saw had been bolstered with fresh water by The Cabal maids in keeping with the instruction of Artanis. Still t'was prudent to be wise; and so they broached the water pouches, and Starshadow, this time, did not decry the offer of drink. They resolved to abide there through the night. There would be no fire lit, 'less it were spied from a distance... but no matter; Artanis elected to share blanket against the chill of the night, and, in the gathering dusk, had reached for Eldamar, and taken again of her pleasure; lit only by the stars upon that blea,k and lonesome Plain.

Thus, they progressed forwards, the span of four days in manner, the same; watchful by day, distracted by night. Upon waking on the fifth day, Eldamar found Artanis, not in his arms, as was her habit; but crouching above him, her eyes watchful. Upon her face and her neck; her arms, and her belly, were delicate designs and symbols laid there in the juice hue of plants; being red, and ochre, and blue. Eldamar stared at her; for this was her War face… what was amiss? He made to ask of her what... She clasped hand about his mouth, whispering…

'Hush! You would be well advised to hold your words behind your teeth, and not to twitch a muscle; 'nor to draw too sturdy a breath.'

And she made point with her eyes towards the open Plain.

Eldamar gazed carefully towards where her gaze held. Not thirty-cubits distant, out on the Plain; standing on the nether edge of the chasm, was the most singularly ugly bird that Eldamar had ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes upon. It was not just that this creature was ugly; 'nay, it stood in receipt of that, and more. It gazed about with eyes that were bilious green and slitted red, as like, some dreadful serpent; and it bore not eyes to either side of its head, as does a bird. Like an Owl, both were set to front of its head, peering forward. It possessed a great hooked, evil beak all sat upon a scrawny neck. Its body was large, and held a most unpleasant hue of plumage. T'were a bluish black; though, not as that of a raven... more the hue of a carcass that has laid bloating in the sun for close on a Se'nnight. It squatted upon sturdy, scaly legs, beset with great evilly taloned feet; and gazed about itself with a watchful, mean stare. Artanis whispered again,

'T'is a Kaarok... a flesh-eater; but is most singularly dim-witted. My paint cozens its eye; it cannot see my true form, so I may watch it, but it will not see me unless I move. I spied it riding the sky some eight-leagues south, out on the Plain, as it progressed into the west to seek our intercept. It saw no movement here, and so it passed us by. I prevised it would make return, and so I laid our mounts in yonder valley. Now, be still! For soon it will tire, and will move on into the east.'

Eldamar gave wince; his sinews were cramping from lying still and unmoving, yet he dare not take ease. And, as she had said; within the span of a quarter Sundial-shadow, the creature spread wings and rose away into the east. He watched it diminish; and even the manner of its flying was ugly.

Artanis gave a small giggle as Eldamar hopped from one foot to another, rubbing at his leg, trying to dissuade the cramping of his sinews. He glared at her,

'Perhaps, had you not pressed your advantage in the night, I would not now be hopping about like some one-legged crow!'

She giggled the more; saying,

'La, My Lord; t'were a sweeter fate than shivering in the night, were it not?'

Eldamar sighed,

'Aye; t'were so... as well you know.'

Artanis then became more serious of demeanour;

'Did you not see? The creature bore a collar; which means, but one thing… it is a harbinger of The Darkness and was spying out for us. But we have now, an advantage. It will return to its masters in lack of informations. For in its thinking, what it does not see is not there. As I said, it is a most witless creature, lacking any shred of guile. It obeys its given command, and that is the sum of it. It will not return until it is sent forth again. So, now we ride, and we ride hard.'

Provisioning themselves at the fifteenth victual cache; Eldamar and Artanis rode on. Before them, the low hills of Astalan rose, smoky-blue in the distance. Five days ride, and they would breach the border. Fifteen days in trailment, and Starshadow was as fresh as the day he set forth from the Halls of Eldamar in the Shining Lands. But, that is the way with Unicorns. The mount of Artanis was a yearling Cordach, and though stout of spirit and heart, it could be seen that he was weary. So, what was the choose? To ride hard, as Artanis had elected? Or rather, to stand not so sturdy a pace, and carry more victuals? Eldamar thought to ease pace; Artanis elected to ride hard. But then, that is the nature of the young. At length, with much pout and ill-cloaked sulk, Artanis bowed to Eldamar's wise counsel; knowing there was no fresh mount to be had, and Astalan would, as like, be a toilsome endeavour. So, they rode on.

Artanis was beset with heroic measure of sulkiness; denying word, and gifting the occasional acerbic sniff to Eldamar, who was hard-pressed not to smile at her petulant stance. He knew full well, this was his catechism for gainsaying her resolve. She was a natural leader, and taking advice was oppugnant to her disposition. She persisted with this humour for some five Sundial-shadows, not helped by Eldamar gifting her a winning smile each time she glanced sidelong from beneath lowered lashes to appraise the measure of woe she was heaping upon him.

Dusk was a'creeping from the east, and there were yet six, or seven leagues to accomplish the sixteenth victual cache. Eldamar laid propose that they break ride hereabouts, and raise camp for the night. There were still provisions and water a'plenty; and they could ride early on the morrow for the next cache. Artanis replied coldly:

'An you wish, My Lord.'

And reined in her Cordach; swinging out of the saddle and throwing her sleeping blanket down onto the ground. Later, she came and took refreshment in silence, then moved to her blanket and wrapped it about herself, presenting her back to him. Eldamar gave a secret smile; such temper! Then he rolled himself about in his blanket and settled for the night. She lay there, gifting him the occasional sigh and huff; prosecuting her petulance until she slipped into slumber. In the small, cold span of the early morning, she crept into his blanket and snuggled into him to share his warmth. He folded her into his arms as she murmured in a sleepy, childlike voice,

'Forgive me for my tantrum, My Lord.'

And was asleep, before he could answer her.

He awoke, to find Artanis laid atop of him, slowly, and gently taking her pleasure of him. He looked sleepily into her face, and she smiled... a soft, and wanton smile;

'Good morrow, My Lord. I awoke to find you water-proud, and thought to avail myself of your invitation.'

Eldamar sighed...

'Artanis Seregon, you are, without doubt, a shameless wanton to misuse an old one in this manner.'

'Doubtless, my Lord; but, I think you will not condemn me out of hand for this thing.'

And she smiled, and softly squirmed her hips upon him... daring him to refute her word. Eldamar gasped,

'T'would seem you have the advantage, so take what you will, and cease this fencing with me; for we have far to ride this day.'

She smiled, softly and wantonly;

'Aye, My Lord; and upon horseback as well.'

And, with that; she prosecuted her advantage to full measure.

As the sun came up over the distant hills of Astalan, they broke camp and rode out to seek the sixteenth victual cache. The morning was fair, and Artanis's humour was the same in kind. So, that was the secret; permit her, her pleasure… he smiled at the word he had chosen… permit?… t'was as like, chasing your own shadow. This maid took of her pleasure! No matter; permit her, her pleasure and she was as sweet as honeydew; decry, and she was as wilful as an un-broken colt. This was a lesson well worth the remembrance!

He was musing upon this as the sixteenth victual cache stood to sighting. Suddenly, Artanis pulled on the left-most rein of Starshadow and veered him towards the cliff; pulling him and her Cordach into concealment within some dense, and scrubby sage bushes at the base of the cliff. With a finger to her lips, she pointed out to the south-east. There, flew the Kaarok. It drifted to the west, ungainly in its stand to the sky, casting about to left and to right. Then it passed them by. Artanis spoke softly,

'It seeks us again this day. T'would seem someone, or something has a most singular need to gather intelligence of our progress. We have perhaps, a quarter Sundial-shadow 'ere it returns; let us not squander our time when we might provision and water from the cache.'

Eldamar disputed,

'But, where might we lie in cloak? There is no cover within sight. Perhaps, we should bide a while in this place.'

Artanis laughed,

'Pshaw! Do you want to live forever? You forget this is my home; there is a great cavern a quarter-league distant from this cairn before us. We shall stay there until this ugly bird has passed back into Astalan.'

Then, casting a gaze to west in trail of the diminishing Kaarok, she spurred forward from concealment towards the sixteenth cache. When Eldamar arrived, she was already pulling it down to reach the provisions. Her eyes were bright with the excitement of this danger, which also betrayed her by her pink, flushed cheeks, and the little hard mounds of her nipples pressing through the thin leather of her bodice. They stripped the cache of their need, and then rode swiftly for the cavern, glancing backwards as they rode. And there! A smudge in the sky coming in from the west… the Kaarok in return! Five-hundred cubits to run; would the bird espy them? There! The cavern mouth. Galloping within, and reining in hard… and no time to spare as a great shadow flitted across the cavern mouth. Were they seen? Would the Kaarok return?

Dismounted now, Artanis clung to him; her bosom heaving against him, her eyes bright and hot. He read in her eyes the unspoken demand, and he sighed. He needs must in future, steer her from peril; for now he saw her passion was also kindled by danger. And it was certain-sure that there would be danger a'plenty in Astalan. If she progressed in this fashion, she might well despatch him with her pleasuring as surely as any foe they encountered might despatch him with sword. The shadow fell no more across the cavern mouth. As she had said, it was a most witless creature, lacking any shred of guile. In its thinking, what it did not see was not there. She had already slipped her bodice off, and was easing the tight breeches down over her hips. Eldamar sighed, as she reached for him once more.

The span of a Sundial-shadow passed slowly in the cool depths of the cavern. Artanis slipped from Eldamar's arms and eased her breeches about her hips once again. Then covertly, she crept to the cavern mouth and cast gaze about with singular caution. The Kaarok was, but a small speck in the sky to the east as it winnowed the borders of Astalan seeking them in vain. She watched as it circled, slowly diminishing until it passed from her sighting beyond the smudge of the smoky-blue hills of Astalan. She moved back into the cavern to where Eldamar was preparing Starshadow and her Cordach. Pulling on her boots, and tying her bodice about herself, she spoke,

'The Kaarok has decamped into Astalan, and I have watched the stand of its passing. It flew into the south-east behind the blue hills. That is where its masters will lurk.'

They rode from the cavern and turned again to the east. Thus, they progressed forwards the span of two more days in manner, the same as before; watchful by day, distracted by night; and no sight was made of the Kaarok. The smoky-blue Hills of Astalan now grew plain before them as they rode down onto the seventeenth victual cache. As they made approach; suddenly, Starshadow shied away. He sensed something was amiss, and Starshadow's sentiment was never wrong. Eldamar swift unsheathed his mighty Guardian sword, "Eithelhwen"… but there was no peril lurking here. What lurked here were two Cabal maids... or as it should be plainly told; what were once, two Cabal maids.

But a short span of time before; they had been comely, and nubile maids, but they were not comely and nubile now. Shreds and tatters of their leathern garments lay all about, as did lumps of their flesh. They lay torn and ripped asunder; in parts, their bones shone white in the softening light. Something had fed upon their flesh. And there! Two Kaaroks lay close by, both beheaded by sword-stroke. Artanis stared at her Wiccen Sisters; her eyes wide with the horror, and her teeth biting her nether lip. She whispered,

'The Third; where is the Third? They rode as three; two to carry provisions, the third to ride sentinel. Where is the Third?

Eldamar cast gaze about; a thin trail of blood led to a scrubbing of sage bushes at the base of the cliff, and there! A crumpled form lay amongst the twisting sage bush roots… the third Cabal maid. She grasped a scrap of torn water pouch in her dead, limp hand. She too, had been torn and ripped about her shoulders and throat. Upon the scrap of leather, she had scrawled, seemingly in her own blood… but five words:

"Kaaroks ... in ... throng ... no ... chance..."

Eldamar cast a swift gaze to Artanis. She sat upon her Cordach, unmoving; her eyes wide upon the ruination of her sisters; her lips trembling. He spoke sharply,

'Ride on girl; find a place we may shelter this night, and when t'is found; stay you there. I shall attend here... now go!'

He could see her resolve fading even as he watched. She needs must be disjoined from the vision of this dreadful carnage that had befallen her companions, 'else her mind would prowl and prey upon this thing laid here before her. He spoke again, his voice sharper yet,

'Go girl; get thee gone.'

The Iron in his voice started her from out of her stupor. She looked at him, in manner of a youngling scolded without good cause, and her eyes shone with tears; and perhaps, with fear. She spurred mount and galloped away.

Eldamar turned back to the ruined bodies. Two were known to him. The maid beneath the sage bushes; she who had scrawled the words, was Helemire. The other, lying distant... with her rib bones laid bare and white; glinting in the softening sun, was little Sara. The other maid was beyond knowing; her face had been torn away, and 'naught to be seen, but a grinning skull. He began to scoop out a hollow with his dagger, close by the sage bushes. He dug it beyond half-a-cubit in deeping, and then gathered the corpses and laid them therein, in keeping with custom for fallen Sword-maids. Their heads were laid to the east; their feet to the west. Each scrap of garment, and piece of torn flesh was carefully gathered and laid into their burial hollow.

He gathered, and laid their swords upon them; their hands, or what remained of their hands about the hilts, with the blade tip betwixt their feet. Then, as he had done with Feawen Arcamen; he fashioned for each maid, a garland from the delicate blossoms of the Dog-roses that grew in abundance about this place. Gently, he placed one garland upon each ruined brow. Using the stones from the victual store, he raised a sturdy cairn about and above them. Then mounting Starshadow, he rode in search of Artanis.

He came upon her, huddled in a small hollow in the cliff face, scarce-sturdy enough to be called cave. She sat; her arms wrapped about herself, and her knees drawn up to her bosom; rocking back and forth with tears tumbling her cheeks. He came and sat beside her. There was room enough for two in this little place. He pulled a blanket about them, and held her in his arms while she sobbed into his shoulder. Thus, they passed the night in this place; her arms about his neck, as her tears soaked his jerkin, and she trembled in his arms; as might a youngling beset by the night terrors. He murmured gentle and comforting words to her until she slipped into a fitful slumber, and her trembling diminished.

Dreadful as the fate of the three Cabal maids had been; one thing now stood plain. There would be no more spying from on high, as Eldamar and Artanis breached the border of Astalan. Whoever it might be that had sent out the Kaarok, would now suppose that the riders from out of the west were destroyed, and would not scour the Plain again. For, as Artanis had said; the Kaarok was a most witless creature lacking any shred of guile, and would not have considered to tell one rider apart from another. They were the riders from the west, and they had been despatched, and that was an end to it.