The Dragonstone

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Aldor smiled when he saw Vanidar, and he stood in greeting. “Silverleaf, welcome again to the land of the Silverlarks and unto this hall.” Aldor’s hair shone like burnished bronze, and he was dressed all in dark brown, with tan insets in sleeve and breast and legging. His eyes were hazel.

  Vanidar bowed in acknowledgment. “Coron Aldor, I bring thee Dylvana from Darda Erynian: Darai Rissa and Arin, and Alori Ruar, Melor, Perin, and Biren.” As each was introduced they acknowledged the Coron with a brief bow of the head, for that is the Dylvana way.

  Before Aldor could respond, a golden-haired Dara leaned forward, her eyes a deep blue. Dressed in green she was, with green ribbons twining through her long tresses. “Dara Arin? The flame seer?” At Arin’s nod, the Lian said, “Long have I wanted to meet thee. I am Rael.”

  “And I thee, crystal seer,” responded Arin.

  Aldor laughed. “It seems conversation precedes introduction, yet ere it runs away, let me name names: Darai Elora e Rael e Irren, Alori Talarin e Rindor.” As the Consort and betrothal party acknowledged Vanidar and the Dylvana, Aldor asked Silverleaf in a low voice, “Hast thou come on a mission?”

  Vanidar nodded.

  “Urgent?” asked Aldor.

  Before Vanidar could respond, Arin said, “I have come to seek Dara Rael’s counsel, yet I deem it can wait till the morrow.”

  Aldor cocked an eyebrow. Vanidar looked at Arin, then said, “Aye. Tonight we shall eat and drink with ye all and join in the celebration of troth.”

  Aldor looked from Silverleaf to Arin. “So be it,” he declared, then called out, “Make room for our Dylvana guests.”

  As they made their way toward the tables, again conversation and laughter filled the Coron-hall, and Arin gazed about at the joyous assembly and wondered if this merriment was perhaps the last the hall would ever see.

  CHAPTER 12

  Elora leaned forward, her black hair unbound and brushing against her face. “And thou didst no more?”

  Arin shook her head. “I seem to recall there were other images, yet what they were I cannot say.”

  They sat at breakfast in the common room of the guest lodge did Consort Elora and Coron Aldor and crystal seer Rael. Arin and the rest of the Dylvana band were ranged ’round the long table. There, too, were Silverleaf and Talarin.

  Aldor sipped his breakfast tea. “’Tis a wicked vision thou hast seen.” He turned to Rael. “Hast thou beheld its like?”

  Rael shook her golden locks. “Nay, Coron.”

  Sitting beside Rael was Talarin, the tall Elf now dressed in grey. Like Rael, he, too, had golden hair, but his eyes were green. He placed a hand on Rael’s shoulder. Briefly she smiled at him and then turned back to Aldor. “That I have seen none of this is of no moment, my Coron, and does riot make it less true, for Visions are heedless as to whom they show their sights. ’Tis likely no two seers in a thousand will view the same image, or so said Elgon the Mage.”

  “Not even events of this import?”

  Rael turned up her hands. “Not even.”

  Arin cleared her throat. “Dara Rael, can Seen events be set aside, avoided?”

  Rael’s brow furrowed in thought. Melor poured himself another cup of tea. “I have never tried,” answered Rael at last. “To do so would be to tamper with Fate…and who knows what would happen then? Mayhap the Wizards…but not I.”

  Arin sighed. “Like thee, Dara, I too have never tried. Yet this vision of mine, it seems as if something must be done to negate the oncoming doom.”

  Arin paused a moment and then asked, “What about the green stone, then? Has any here heard of such?”

  The Lian looked at one another and all shook their heads.

  “Not even rumor?”

  “Perhaps it is a thing of the Drimma,” conjectured Talarin. “They work gem and jade and stone, and from thy description it could be any of these.”

  “True,” replied Arin. “Yet I have not seen its like among any artifacts of the delvers.”

  “It just struck me: mayhap it is a creation of Magekind,” volunteered Perin.

  Biren turned to his twin. “Why would they do such? To what end?”

  Perin shrugged. “Who knows the ways of Wizards?”

  Aldor slowly shook his head. “Whatever it is—Drimmen or not, Wizards or not, or even the gods themselves—this green stone would seem to be a true token of power.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Elora, “Perin’s suggestion is as valid as any other. Surely someone in the world knows of this particular thing.”

  Aldor set down his teacup. “I shall have discreet enquiries made among the Lian. Too, I shall send emissaries unto Drimmen-deeve to ask the DelfLord as to knowledge of the artifact. But as to the Wizards…”

  “As to the Wizards,” said Rael, picking up Aldor’s thread, “I would suggest that Dara Arin seek out one of Magekind.”

  Arin turned to the crystal seer. “Thou didst speak of a Mage, Dara Rael—Elgar?”

  “Elgon,” replied Rael.

  “He knows of seers and seeing?”

  “Somewhat…though it was not his, um, specialty.”

  “Perhaps I should seek him out, then,” suggested Arin.

  Rael shook her head. “I know not where he dwells.”

  “Rwn? Black Mountain?”

  Rael shrugged. “Mayhap. Yet there is one closer than either of those two places: Dalavar in Aralan. He dwells in Darda Vrka, or so I am told.”

  “The Wolfwood?” Rissa raised an eyebrow. “I know it. Dalavar, too.”

  The others looked at her. “Aye—Dalavar Wolfmage. I met him once when I passed through in other days,” she explained. “His is a shaggy forest…and warded.”

  Rael frowned. “Warded?”

  “Aye. By the Draega, by the Silver Wolves.”

  “Draega in Mithgar?” exclaimed Ruar. “I thought they all dwelt in Adonar.”

  “Evidently not,” said Silverleaf, smiling at Rissa and reaching out to take her hand.

  “This Darda Vrka, where lies it?” asked Arm.

  “East and north in Aralan,” replied Rissa, “some eight hundred leagues as the hawk flies, longer by the route we would take.”

  Biren looked at Perin. “Eighty to a hundred days by horse at a goodly pace.”

  “A great deal less if using remounts,” replied his twin.

  Arin sighed. “And Black Mountain—where does it lie?”

  “Beyond Darda Vrka,” said Rissa. “Another two hundred leagues or so. In the realm of Xian.”

  Arin thought a moment. “Can we save time by riding the dusk and the dawn?”

  The Elves looked at one another, but none had aught to volunteer. Finally Silverleaf said, “I know of no in-between crossings shorter than direct.”

  Arin groaned. “I was hoping to save time by riding into Adonar and then back unto Mithgar—crossing several times, if necessary.”

  Ruar cleared his throat. “Would it not be swifter to go to Rwn? We could ride down to the Avagon Sea and take passage on an Arbalinian merchant ship.”

  Aldor shook his head. “The Rovers of Kistan have the straits blocked, or so I am told. No ship but the Eroean is said to have made it through.”

  “Aravan’s ship,” said Arin, her eyes brightening. “He would give us passage.”

  Aldor shook his head. “The King’s herald said Aravan is no longer in port but has sailed through the blockade and beyond again. The herald also said even now the High King is assembling a fleet to break the stranglehold. Yet that could take awhile, perhaps months.”

  “We could ride north and sail from the Boreal…or west to the Ryngar,” suggested Melor, “and hope to catch a trader going our way.”

  “Or engage one,” added Ruar.

  “Rwn or Darda Vrka or Black Mountain in Xian,” said Arin, sighing, “no matter our choice, it will take time.”

  “There is this,” said Rael. “If ye go to Darda Vrka to find answers with Dalavar, if he knows not how to aid ye, then Black Moun
tain lies just beyond.”

  Rissa nodded. “Aye, Darda Vrka is on the way to Xian.”

  “I would suggest, then—” began Aldor, but his words fell short as there sounded the distant belling of a bugle echoing among the Eld Trees. “An alarm?” muttered Aldor. He stood and stepped to the front window of the lodge.

  Again the bugle sounded, closer this time.

  Now all the Elves got to their feet.

  Silverleaf girted on his long-knife. The visiting Dylvana took up swords and bows. Elora retrieved Aldor’s sword from the table and carried it to him.

  Aldor turned from the window and received the weapon and began girting it about his waist. As he did so he looked up at Arin. “Let me say this to thee, Dara, ere it is pushed from my mind by this clarion call: I would suggest that thou and thy companions follow the counsel of Dara Rael and hie to Darda Vrka. Seek out this Dalavar and ask his advice. And if Dalavar cannot help ye, then go on to Black Mountain beyond, for none—”

  Now the ringing of the bugle became strident.

  “—none here knows of the green stone, but the Wizards may. Meanwhile, I will do all in my power to uncover its import.”

  A horse and Elven rider came thundering into the thorp, a brace of remounts running behind on long tethers. Again the rider sounded the bugle.

  Aldor stepped out the door, the others following after.

  The rider and horses skidded to a halt at the Coron-hall, and the rider flung himself from the blowing, lathered steed and raced up the steps, only to be redirected toward the oncoming band by the warder at the door.

  His bugle still clenched in his fist, the rider met them halfway between the hall and the lodge and gritted, “My Coron, the Rûpt along the Grimwall, they have felled in malice nine of the Eld Trees.”

  “Kha!” Aldor clenched his fist in rage as cries of dismay rose up from the others. The Coron took a deep breath and blew it out, then asked, “And the Rûpt, Loric, what of the Rûpt?”

  “Dead. Slain by the march warders.”

  “Blœ!” spat Elora, her look grim. “Too easy. They should have suffered.”

  Aldor ground his teeth. “The Rûpt: Rucha, Loka, Ghûlka, what?”

  “Rucha in the main, though two Loka were among them.”

  “How many?”

  “A score and two.”

  “When?” asked Aldor.

  “Yesternight,” replied the rider. “Nay, wait, I rode all yesternight, so two nights back it was.”

  Arin’s eyes flew wide. Two nights back? My dream, the screams, the flashing blades.

  Arin looked at Perin and silently mouthed, My dream. He nodded, and then both looked at Rissa, remembering that she had moaned in her sleep that same night as well, but Rissa seemed unaware.

  Arin now glanced at the Eld Trees nearby. Vanidar said we are somehow connected, and connected we are: they sense our presence; I sensed their pain.

  “These Spaunen, who sent them?” asked Silverleaf.

  “We know not,” replied the rider. “We were bloodlust mad with grief and the Rûpt were all dead ere we thought to take prisoner.”

  Silverleaf slapped his leg and said to Aldor, “More than simple killings need answer this rape.”

  “Of that I am aware,” replied Aldor, his eyes narrowing. “We must uncover the ones behind this vile deed and bring a hard message home unto the Foul Folk.”

  “Retribution,” growled Elora, baring her teeth. “Swift and hard. This must never happen again.”

  Arin’s eyes widened at the Consort’s bloodthirsty visage. Is this how it begins? The war of my vision?

  Vanidar took a deep breath and said, “Aye, retribution for my trees.”

  “Thy trees?” asked Talarin.

  Vanidar nodded. “I was Coron when this forest was first set in the ground.”

  Now Talarin’s eyes widened, and he said, “Then the claim of this Darda upon thee is greater than most here. I would be honored to ride at thy side when we wreak vengeance upon the Rûpt.”

  Aldor made a sweeping gesture, taking in Lian and Dylvana and all of Wood’s-heart. “We would all be honored to ride at thy side, Silverleaf. Wilt thou be my warleader?”

  Vanidar looked from one to the other of the company, but when his gaze passed to Arin, she shook her head. “Silverleaf, as much as this felling of the nine pains me, I cannot sheer away from my first duty.” She turned to the others. “Ye all go with Vanidar and the Lian to render vengeance for this terrible thing the Foul Folk have done; thy presence will let the Rûpt know the Dylvana, too, will not allow such deeds to go unpunished. But I…I must instead fare to Aralan, fare to Darda Vrka to seek the advice of the Wizard Dalavar. It was the charge of mine own Coron for me to follow the trail of the green stone and try to set aside its doom.”

  Vanidar clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles shone white. Then he turned to Aldor. “Arin is right. As much as I grieve at the felling of the nine, as much as I crave retribution, I cannot be thy warleader. We were charged by Coron Remar in Darda Erynian to accompany Arin on her mission, and accompany her I will.”

  Silverleaf looked at the others, and one by one they sighed and nodded their heads.

  Aldor’s gaze swept over them all. “So be it,” he declared. He turned to the rider. “Loric, sound the muster. I would ride in force unto the Grimwall marches.”

  As Loric’s bugle sounded the call to arms, Arin stepped to Silverleaf’s side. “I am sorry, Alor Vanidar, for thou didst engender this woodland, and if any should seek vengeance for the slaying, it should be thee.”

  * * *

  With all of her goods packed, Arin took one last sweeping look about her quarters in the guest lodge to make certain she had left nothing behind. Then she stepped through the open doorway and onto the porch of the long, low, thatch-roofed lodge, where her companions waited. Little was said as slowly they walked toward the stables, passing Lian dwellings, where inside they could see Elven warriors—male and female alike—girting themselves for war. Now and again a rider thundered past on an urgent mission, and Arin’s heart hammered in her chest. Is this clamor in any way tethered to my Seeing? She sighed and continued walking, her question unanswered, for at this time there was no way of knowing.

  The stables were practically empty—few horses and little tack remaining. As did the others, Arin bridled and saddled her own mount and filled her saddlebags with grain and affixed her traveling gear to the ties behind the rear cantle. At last all was ready and Arin and her escort slowly rode out and away from Wood’s-heart and into the twilit forest, while behind Rael watched them go, a troubled look on her face.

  Into the airy silence of lofty Eldwood they rode, the horses’ hooves making little sound on the mossy way. After a while Arin looked back; nought but towering trees met her gaze. She faced front once more, following behind the others, heading for the ferry at Olorin Isle and to Caer Lindor beyond. At that fortress on the Rissanin River they would provision themselves for the long journey to the land of Aralan and shaggy Darda Vrka within. There they would seek out Dalavar to see if he knew aught of the green stone, aught of that token of power, and whether or not he knew of a way to avert its terrible doom.

  CHAPTER 13

  Token of power?” Despite the amount Alos had drunk, his speech was not slurred by ale. “And just what might one of these tokens be, hey?”

  Aiko snorted, but Arin said, “Something empowered to fulfill a destiny.”

  “Eh?” Alos shook his head. “Empowered? Destiny? You speak in riddles, and I need another drink.” He held out the empty pitcher, his blind white eye fixed on Arin.

  Aiko growled and shifted a sword, its blade glinting wickedly. Alos hurriedly thunked the empty pitcher back to the table and held out his hands and whined, “No offense, Lady. I meant to give no offense. It’s just that posers work up a thirst…and tokens of power are posers all right, what with their destinies and dooms and all.”

  Egil shifted in his bed. “I would also like to hear m
ore about these tokens. From what you say, my engel—my Lady, it seems they, too, carry wyrds…as do we all.”

  “Wyrds?” Aiko raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye,” answered Egil, his good blue eye glittering in the lamplight, for eve had fallen during Arin’s telling and the room was now illuminated by a soft, yellow glow. “Wyrds: that which drives men in the deeds they do…or the thing that awaits them in the end.”

  “Hmph. Just men? You grunt like the priests of Hodakka. Baka-gojona dokemono.” Aiko turned her face and stared out the window.

  “Dost thou believe thou hast a wyrd, Egil?”

  “Aye, Lady Arin: a spear through my heart, a sword thrust, a death at sea, or some such. What it is I cannot say, but surely a wyrd awaits me.”

  Aiko again fixed him with her dark gaze. “And what if you die of old age in bed?”

  Egil barked a laugh. “Me? Die in bed? Not likely.”

  Arin cast a glance at Aiko and then turned to Egil. “Mayhap thy wyrd has already come to pass, Egil. Mayhap it did so in Jute.”

  Egil raised a hand to his bandages but did not reply.

  Alos peered into his empty mug and sighed. “Wyrds I understand. —Oh, not that I believe in them…. But these tokens of power, well, they seem to be another thing altogether.” He looked up at Arin. “Just what are they and how do you know?”

  All eyes shifted to Arin. She turned up a hand and said, “Tokens of power—at times hard to recognize, at other times known to all. They can be for Good or Ill: Gelvin’s Doom was a token of power for Evil—a feartoken. So, too, was the Black Throne of Hadron’s Hall. Those for Good are sometimes known: one is the Kammerling, Adon’s Hammer, destined to slay the greatest Dragon of all—though where the Kammerling is, none can say. Too, there is a sword in Adonar, Bale by name, and it would appear to fit the mold, though what its destiny may be, none can say. Others are unknown and seem to be one thing—jewels, poniards, rings, a trinket—but are truly something else altogether. Many look as if they hold no power at all, until, that is, they manifest their doom.”