The Dragonstone

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Arin paused to take another drink, and none said aught but waited in silence instead. Melor started to replenish the water, but she shook her head. “There is one last thing central to the vision: a stone…a green stone—”

  “A rock?” asked Perin.

  “A gem?” added Rissa.

  “Hush,” said Silverleaf. “Let her speak and she will tell us.”

  “It was pale green, a lucent jade,” said Arin. “Smooth and egglike it was, yet how big I cannot say, for there was nought to judge it against. But I do know that it is key to the vision, for all the other images whirled ’round and ’round the stone, as if it were the eye of a maelstrom, the anchor of the doom.”

  Silence fell among them, broken at last by Perin. “How knowest thou that this thing is a stone? Could it not be a plain egg?”

  Arin shook her head. “Plain it is not, Alor Perin, nor is it an egg. How I know I cannot say, yet it is a green stone.”

  They looked at one another, mute in their consternation. Then Melor asked, “Is there aught else to thy Seeing?”

  Arin frowned in concentration, and she stared at the ground as if trying to capture an elusive thought. Finally she said, “I am not certain. Mayhap there was more, but my mind fled from the ing and the blackness took me.”

  Again silence fell. At last Rissa glanced up at Silverleaf. “What shall we do with this Seeing, chieran?” He did not answer but stood pondering, unaware that he had been addressed. Rissa’s gaze then swept across the others, stopping at last with Arin. “Has any a suggestion?”

  Now all eyes looked to Arin. She sighed. “We need consult with others: the Dylvana Coron and his Court, the Lian Coron, too. Mayhap someone will know what to do.”

  Silverleaf slowly nodded, then said, “There is another we can consult: Dara Rael, for like thee, Dara Arin, she, too, can .”

  * * *

  The next day south they rode, heading for the central glades of Darda Erynian, where the Coron of the Dylvana dwelled. They passed the cottage of a Baeron family—a man and wife, with two daughters and a son—living in the northern reaches of the Great Greenhall. Unlike other humans—nearly all of whom are barred from these woods—the Baeron clans dwell within the bounds of Darda Erynian—as well as the Greatwood to the south—for it is said that in the past they had greatly aided the Hidden Ones and so were welcomed herein. The band of Elves paused long enough for a cool drink of water and they gave the bulk of the stag meat over to the Baeron household as well as the hide, though Vanidar kept the antlers from which he would fashion handles for knives and perhaps other utensils as well. The family received the meat and the pelt graciously, though Baeron are adept at fetching their own game. As the man hung the venison in the smokehouse, and the son and daughters stretched out the hide on a tanning rack, the wife carried-two meat pies to the Elves, which they accepted gladly.

  * * *

  “Is there no more?”

  A look of concentration fell upon Arin’s face and for long moments she did not answer, but then she sighed and shook her head. “Some vague images, my Coron, but try as I might, I cannot recall them. It would seem the vision ended when I…fainted.”

  Slowly Remar, Coron of all Dylvana, looked from one to the other of those who had accompanied Arin to the court at Bircehyll, and as his gaze fell upon each, one by one they shook their heads, for they had nought to add to that which Arin had said. Last, Remar’s scrutiny fell upon Vanidar, the only Lian among them. “What sayest thou, Guardian?”

  As the gentle wind sighed among the silver birch, Vanidar considered his answer. Finally he said, “This portent cannot be ignored. If there is a way to prevent this calamity, then we must take steps to see that such a fate does not befall the world.”

  Remar looked at Arin. “Thinkest thou that these events can be set aside?”

  Arin turned her palms up. “I know not, Coron. Yet Vanidar is right: if there is a way…”

  She did not finish her words, but all knew what she meant.

  Silence fell for a moment, until Rissa cleared her throat. The Coron turned to her. “Hast thou aught to add?”

  “Only a question, my Coron.”

  “Question?”

  “Aye. I was pondering whether or not a fate foreseen can be changed at all…or is it fixed, immutable, no matter what we may do?” She took Arin’s hand in hers. “Dara, hast thou e’er tried to change the course of one of thy Seeings?”

  Arin shook her head. “Never. Many were in the past and beyond changing. And as to those in the present or future, for the most they concern events I would not try to alter or turn aside. But this Seeing, this Seeing…”

  Rissa squeezed Arin’s hand to comfort her.

  Silverleaf turned to Remar and said, “I suggest we seek the advice of Dara Rael in the Eldwood. Mayhap she will know whether events foreseen can be averted. If so, then there may be prospect of shunting this dire fate away from the world.”

  Remar ran his fingers through his auburn hair and quiet fell on the greensward. In deep thought he looked downslope at the vale below. At last he shook himself out of his reflection. “This then is what we shall do: Dara Arin, as Alor Vanidar has suggested, thou shalt seek the counsel of Dara Rael. She indeed might know whether destiny is immutable or is instead pliable, subject to change. Seek as well the advice of the Lian Coron, for Aldor is wise and may have much to offer.” Remar turned to Vanidar. “Silverleaf, thou shalt escort Dara Arin unto Darda Galion….” Remar paused and then made a wide sweeping gesture, taking in the others. “Indeed, I would have it that all ye accompany the Dara to the Eldwood on this mission, for ye were her companions when the vision came upon her, and mayhap ye have a part to play in events to come.” The Coron looked from one to another, then asked, “What say ye?”

  Arin tilted her head in silent assent, as did they all. But to his acceptance Biren added, “Alor Remar, should aught of this Seeing be told to others—men, Dwarves, Mages, Hidden Ones, the scattered Waerlinga? A fair warning so that they may prepare?”

  “But we know not when it falls due,” protested Perin. “Today, tomorrow, or seasons hence—Arin’s vision did not say.”

  Biren turned to his twin. “For all we know, somewhere upon Mithgar the devastation even now thunders forth. Fair warning is the least we should do.”

  Perin held up a cautionary hand. “Brother of mine, we know not that aught has started or is even poised. Perhaps we will but cause alarm when none is yet warranted.”

  Biren clenched a fist. “But perhaps it is the very act of waiting that will cause the doom to fall.”

  “And mayhap it is the very act of mustering for war which will cause it to fall instead,” retorted Perin.

  “Akka!” spat Melor. “Doomed if we do; doomed if we don’t.”

  Remar shook his head. “Ai, that, I deem, is a trouble with Seeing this future, for I know not whether I would cause it to unfold by my response to the knowledge or allow it to occur by doing nought.” He turned to Biren. “But this I will do, Alor Biren, Alor Perin: if Dara Arin and Dara Rael deem it wise, I will send emissaries unto all the Lords of the Free Folk to give fair warning. Until then I’ll say nought.”

  Both canted their heads in assent at Remar’s declaration, but Biren added, “And I will pray to Adon that should a warning be called for, we will have enough time to do so ere the doom arrives.”

  * * *

  The next day they set forth, riding westerly through the forest, angling to quickly reach the open wold alongside the Great River Argon. And as they rode through Darda Erynian, shadows flitted among the boles of the trees, as if an unseen convoy paced alongside their way. This did not disturb the Elven band, for they were used to the Hidden Ones escorting them through the sun-dappled woods—Fox Riders and Loogas and Sprygt and others, curious, warding, or driven by motives unknown.

  Two days later in the afternoon they emerged from the marge of the Great Greenhall to come to the wold, the unforested rolling plain stretching fro
m Darda Erynian to the River Argon lying some ten miles to the west. Southerly they turned, angling slightly sunward, paralleling the course of the distant river.

  All the next day, as in the days before, they rode and walked and paused to eat and to relieve themselves, or to rest the horses or feed them grain or stop at a stream crossing to let the steeds drink. But always they remounted and took up the trek again until the day came to an end, when they would set camp and care for the animals and finally take their own rest.

  Just after dawn of the third day upon the open wold they came into sight of the trees bordering the wide Argon. Here in this place a morning fog reached out from the placid waters and onto the open moor, and the Elves were content to stay on the high ground above the layers of mist, pacing alongside it instead. But as the sun rose into the sky and the fog slowly burned away, down the slopes the riders angled, eager to see the mighty flow. Finally the tendrils of mist withdrew down among the trees, and of a sudden seemed to vanish entirely as the clear morning sun glared brightly into their refuge. And now the glint of the river sparkled in the light of day, the broad waters flowing gently toward the far-off sea.

  Along this course rode the Elven band of seven, heading ever southerly, making their way toward distant Olorin Isle, where they planned on crossing the mighty Argon by way of the ferry there. The isle itself sat in the river some thirty leagues hence, near the point where Darda Erynian on the east of the river ended and Darda Galion on the west began. And given their pace and the terrain between, it would take them some three or four days to traverse the ninety-one miles.

  All during the morning trek the land gently rose, until the band rode along a portage-way atop steep eastern bluffs well above the level of the river. Down at the base of the palisades the water itself swept downstream at an ever increasing pace, for as the land had risen the water-course had narrowed and the riverbed had gradually angled down. The ravine below was known as the Race, the current swift and strong. Here northbound river travelers must abandon the water and portage overland along the eastside way, but pilots of southbound traffic—if they are skillful enough and if they dare—need only stay in the rushing center of the river and away from the jagged rocks.

  As the midday sun reached toward the zenith, the Elven band came to where the high-walled canyon pinched inward to form a long, tight gorge, and from the depths of the cleft roared the thunder of water as the constricted Argon hurled through the narrowest part of an already narrow channel. Here was the deadliest stretch of the perilous strait, for here it was that the water plunged apace between the close-set ramparts, cresting and rolling and breaking over hidden barriers, smashing around massive rocks to leap and fall crashing back only to drive into the next great stone and the next and next, and the least mistake in the hurtling current could cause a pilot to lose boat and cargo to the rocks and water, as well as lose life and limb.

  Above the reach of this thundering hazard rode the seven, while down in the roaring gorge the waters impotently raged. They came to the narrowest pinch atop the walls of the gorge, the western rampart but a stone’s throw away, and here, of a sudden, the constriction came to an end as the cliffs to either side began to diminish in height and to recede from one another, and the water below slid down a long ramp into a deep trough and shortly thereafter the river widened.

  Onward rode the Elven band, down the sloping land, and soon the thunder in the Race behind became a rumble and then a distant grumble…and when they set camp that night not even a whispering echo remained.

  * * *

  All the next day they rode on the wold alongside the wooded river vale, now angling a bit easterly as the south-bearing river swung over that way. Once again they made camp as twilight drew upon the land.

  It was near mid of day the day after when they sighted the northern end of Olorin Isle, where they could see smoke rising from the dwellings of the Rivermen. Down from the wold rode the Elves and through a narrow marge of woods bordering the Argon to come to the river itself, and following an overgrown trail, a quarter mile downstream they reached the ferry dock. From the pier a well-beaten path bore southward alongside the stream. They all dismounted and stretched their legs and then Vanidar haled on the pull-rope to ring the summoning bell.

  After a while they could see the ferry, with four men rowing, leave the island pier; a mule stood in their midst. As they crossed the quarter-mile stretch, the river current carried the float southerly; it would land downstream below the Elves at the dock.

  “Should we ride down to meet it?” asked Melor.

  Silverleaf shook his head and pointed at the path along the bank. “The mule will haul it here, else on the journey back we could miss the island altogether.”

  Arin raised an eyebrow. “Why should we go to the isle? It’s the far side we would reach and not some point midriver.”

  Rissa laughed aloud, for she had been this way before, and Vanidar said, “Ah, ’tis the scheming of the Rivermen which makes it so: one ferry to carry us to the isle for a fee; another ferry to take us on to the far shore…for a second fee, of course.” Now Vanidar joined Rissa in her laughter.

  “Huah! Waterway robbery,” declared Ruar, yet he was smiling as he said so.

  Melor growled, “Outrageous,” but Perin and Biren looked at one another and shrugged.

  Some time later, harnessed to the ferry, the mule came plodding along the pathway, one man leading the animal while the three other men fended with poles to keep the float from grounding against the shore.

  * * *

  “Y’could help we’ns row,” said the Riverman, spitting into the Argon, then jerking his stubble-clad chin toward spare oars as he and his comrades rowed.

  “Oh no, my good man,” responded Ruar. “For the exorbitant fee paid ye we shall ride in luxury.”

  “Wi’ this load we c’d miss th’ isle alt’gether, y’know,” replied the Riverman. “Go over Bellon hisself ‘n’ inter th’ Cauldron herself.”

  “Oh, please do,” said Ruar gaily, for he knew full well that mighty Bellon Falls was a full hundred miles downstream, where the Argon plunged over the rim of the Great Escarpment to plummet a thousand feet to the thundering churn below. “I have always wanted to swim in the roar of the Cauldron at the foot of He Who Shouts.”

  The Riverman growled but said no more and hauled mightily on the oar, for he knew that if they did indeed miss the island they would collect no double fee.

  The barge landed on the long shores of Olorin Isle some three miles downstream, where the Elves offloaded and mounted up and rode along the tow path toward the northern point of the isle where the second ferry was docked.

  As they cantered along the shoreline, they saw boats put out from the island shore and row into the stream, where the boatmen began fetching up flotsam bobbing in the river.

  Vanidar slowed his steed to a walk and stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes. The others slowed also. “Umh,” grunted Silverleaf. “Looks as if a vessel has come to disaster upstream.”

  “The Race?” asked Arin.

  “Most likely,” he answered, then sighed. “This is another way the Rivermen make their living: from the misfortune of others.” He spurred into a canter again, the rest following his lead.

  Shortly they reached the north end of the island and rode in among the sparse dwellings, ramshackle cabins for the most part, though here and there stood an adequate cottage. No adults were about, yet a few small children—dirty and ill-clothed—stood on the docks and gazed out at the boatmen snagging the floating wares. The children turned and watched as the Elves rode past, and then resumed their river vigil once the strangers had gone on.

  When the band reached the west ferry and dismounted, only a mule was there to greet them.

  “Where is the crew?” asked Melor, looking about but seeing no one.

  Arin gestured at the river. “Salvaging wreckage, I would imagine.” She looked at Vanidar, who nodded in confirmation.

  “Then we wait?�
� asked Perin.

  “That or steal the ferry,” answered Biren.

  * * *

  It was nearly twilight when the Rivermen returned from their “gleaning o’ th’ waters,” as they called it. A ferry crew was assembled for the trip across, and full night had fallen by the time they reached the opposite shore.

  As the Elven band led their horses from the grounded barge, a voice rang out from the darkness: “Kest!”

  “Vio Vanidar!” called Silverleaf in response. “Vi didron enistori! Darai Rissa e Arin, ke Alori Ruar, Melor, Perin, e Biren.”

  Stepping out from the shadows and into the light cast by the ferryboat lamps there came a tall Lian. “Vio Tarol. Vhal sa Darda Galion.”

  Silverleaf turned to the others and smiled. They had come at last unto Darda Galion. In two days, mayhap three, they would come to Wood’s-heart, where Rael dwelt. And then perhaps she would tell them how to set aside the terrible destiny Arin had seen in the fire.

  CHAPTER 9

  Alos smacked his lips and peered at his mug and men at the ale flagon, both empty. “You tell a powerful tale, Lady Arin. Works me up a great thirst, you know. And there’s none left in the pitcher, what with Egil here drinking, too.”

  Egil smiled and glanced at his mug, his first, and still half full.

  Aiko stared impassively at the old man.

  Alos peered into the empty pitcher once again and then looked at Arin. “Is the story done? Surely not. And don’t you think that Egil here needs some more ale to last him through the rest of the tale? I know I’ve worked up a great thirst, or did I say that already?”

  Arin sighed. “Nay, Alos, my tale is not yet complete; there is more to tell. Much more.”

  “W’ll, if that’s the case, then I say we’ll need another flagon or two, eh?”

  Aiko stalked to the window and stood peering out at the growing day, her fists clenched behind her back.

  Arin stepped to Egil’s side and felt his brow and took the measure of his pulse. “Art thou able to listen to more? I would not overtire thee.”