Again it was Elgo who answered. “See that they are well tended; when they are fit, let them take an oath by all they hold sacred that they will never again raise a hand ’gainst this Kingdom, then set them free on condition that they leave this Land, never again to return. But of those who will not so swear, slay them.”
When at last Elgo’s Warband returned to the castle, it was met by a cheering throng, for Ruric had sent a messenger speeding ahead with the news. But neither Elgo nor Elyn reveled in the praise, for they had been sobered by their experiences. They had ridden to War, their mettle untested; now they returned as battle-forged iron. Still, they had the resilience and spirit of youth, and waved and smiled upon their homecoming, pleased to be back.
At sight of Elyn among the Warband, Mala was enraged, for she had been frantic with the absence of the Princess, and knew not for certain where Elyn had gone, though the indications had been strong as to the Warrior Maiden’s goal.
But as to Mala’s tirades over the next few days, Elyn chose to ignore them, though she had been shaken by the harsh words leveled upon her in private by Ruric for having disobeyed his command.
Concerning the Castleward, the muster had been successful, and the returning campaigners found the walls well guarded, Captain Barda at their head. Even so, after two days of rest for the returning warriors, with Elgo’s praise and twelve coppers each, the temporary warders were sent back to their steads.
One day later, riding alone, Captain Weyth returned to the keep, reporting that the Naudron had run all the way to the border and beyond, never turning again to fight. And the Easton muster had been disbanded thereafter, to make their way back home.
Thirteen days following, in a cold, driving rainstorm, Aranor and his retinue returned to the keep. Lightning stalked across the face of the earth, shattering light blinding the eye, thunder hammering at the ear. The King strode into the entrance hall, puddles of water adrip from his drenched cloak. Waiting for him was Mala.
Within the half hour Elyn and Elgo were summoned into his presence. There the twins found Ruric, Mala, and Gannor, Aranor’s cousin and Hrosmarshal of the Jordreichs.
“I go to sign a compact with Randall and return to find that a War with Bogar not only was begun in my absence, but was won without my need!” A great grin split the features of Aranor. “Well done, my children, well done indeed.
“Elgo, ’twas your plan I hear that set the steel to them and sent them flying home. I am most proud of your conduct.
“But you, Elyn, I am told by Mala”—there was a tension in the air between the King and the spinster that bespoke of hot words lying ’twixt the two—“flew in the face of Ruric’s decision that you remain behind, hence put both heirs to the Line in jeopardy. Daughter, you could have been slain. Have you aught to say?”
A great jagged bolt crashed nearby, flashing white light stabbing through the high stone windows and into the lamp-lit chamber, dispelling all shadow, thunder slapping inward upon the heels of the glare, rattling the dishes of an untouched meal of meat, wine, and bread.
Elyn thought that the afterimage would be burned into her sight forever: her sire’s stern look as he sat before her; Gannor standing to the left behind the King, the Hrosmarshal still clothed in damp riding garb, his yellow beard wet, his blue eyes steely; Ruric at Aranor’s right, awaiting Elyn’s response; Elgo at her own side to the right; and lastly, standing to the King’s immediate left, Mala, triumph in her gaze.
When the shadows returned unto the room, Elyn’s answer came softly: “Sire, had I not gone, your principle heir, Elgo, would now be lying dead, and you would here be mourning his loss instead of putting your daughter through an inquisition.”
A look of amazement crossed Aranor’s features, and he glanced at Elgo.
“’Tis true, Sire,” responded Elgo. “My gizzard would have been split had she not come when she did. Ai! but hers was the first arrow to fly, throat-striking the foe behind me, his bolt loosed afterwards from harmless dead hands.”
“Hai Warrior Maid!” cried Ruric, astounding Elyn by what he said next, for they were words that flew in sharp contrast to those spoken to her in private. “Yet that be not all, Sire, for she took up the chase wi’ us and brought down three more, one by lance and two by saber!”
Now it was Gannor who cried, “Hai Warrior Maid!” the Hrosmarshal’s eyes alit with an inner fire as he smiled her way.
“This then be true, my Daughter?” Aranor raised up from the throne. “You be battle blooded? And saved Elgo, too?”
At Elyn’s simple nod, Aranor stepped down and took her in his arms in a fierce hug. “Then in truth, you do be a Warrior Maid, the first in more than a thousand years.” Aranor was damp, his beard wet, his riding clothes chill to the touch, yet Elyn was never so warmed as she was by that embrace from her sire.
“Surely, Aranor, you cannot mean that she is a true Warrior Maid,” sputtered Mala. “Not with all that that would mean when it comes to choosing a suitable husband for her.”
“By Hèl, Mala”—Aranor released Elyn and spun about to face the spinster—“my daughter is a Warrior Maid! A true Warrior Maid! And I’ll be damned if I’ll let anybody deny her even a single one of the rights deserving to a Warrior Maid!”
Jaw outjutted, fuming, Mala stalked from the throne room, her rage and frustration virtually palpable, her muttering audible. “. . . reap what ye have sown. Mark me, Aranor, ye will live to regret this day. After all that I did, ye have . . .” In high dudgeon, at last she swept from the chamber, carrying her maledictions with her.
“By Adon,” gritted the King, watching Mala go, “that Woman would put the hackles up on a holy Man. Sleeth’s hoard, I didn’t get more than ten steps into the castle ere she started in on me. Wet, cold, hungry, weary, it mattered not to her. The only thing of any import was your ‘unacceptable behavior,’ Elyn. Damme!”
Turning and clapping an arm about both son and daughter, Aranor walked them to the sideboard. “Come now, let us all sit at meal, and speak to me of the battle of Arnsburg, for I would hear every scrap of it.”
And so, amid flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, Aranor, Elyn, Elgo, Ruric, and Gannor all sat down to a meal before a roaring fire set to drive the chill away. And they talked long into the night as the storm slowly passed, moving eastward, until each thunderstroke was but a remote flicker, followed by a distant rumble lagging far behind.
That night, too, Aranor gave black-oxen horns unto both Elyn and Elgo, signifying that each was a full-fledged warrior, Elgo’s trump bound ’round with a golden band, Elyn’s marked with a silver rune.
And never again were Elyn’s rights as a Warrior Maid questioned. And never again would she be denied the choice as to whether to ride to battle, although a time would come when duty would demand that she stay behind—e’en though her heart would lie elsewhere.
CHAPTER 11
Crimson Sky
Year’s Long Night, 3E1600
[Two Years Past]
Always and ever did Elgo’s prideful mind return to the problem of Sleeth: how to slay the great Cold-drake and claim his hoard. A year went by, then another, and one more and more, until six all told had fled. And every year in the long winter when curtains of werelight high in the auroral night shifted and burned with strange colors, his thoughts would turn to great deeds of derring-do. And his canny mind found ways to accomplish these deeds. He would run down Flame, the red stallion, giving the mighty steed to Aranor. He would steal the fair Arianne from the very fortress of Hagor, taking her as his willing bride. He would slay Golga, single-handedly, for he ever remembered Ruric’s words about his responsibilities for the lives of others. He would do all these things and more, winning great renown; yet ever his mind returned to Sleeth and the killing of a Dragon.
And he thought upon all the things that Ruric had said, and Elyn, and even the words of Trent, searching for clues, searching for a way to do the deed, remembering his own oath.
And finally, one f
rigid night in a darkened castle his voice whispered in awed revelation, his words growing in strength with his conviction: “It is so simple . . . so very simple. By Adon”—his wild laughter filled the enshadowed halls—“By Adon!” For Elgo had at last conceived his plan for defeating Sleeth, a plan that six months later upon Year’s Long Day would bring him and forty others into a vale along the Rigga Mountains, a vale leading unto the sundered doors of lost Blackstone, unto the very holt of the great Cold-drake.
But that was yet to be, and on this bodeful night when his plan was first cast, high in the auroral midnight sky the shifting curtains of spectral werelight burned a ghastly red . . . a rending, bloody red.
CHAPTER 12
Sleeth the Orm
Late Spring, 3E1601
[Last Year]
Sleeping upon a bed of stolen gold, something disturbed the reptilian dreams of Sleeth. Slowly, one great ophidian eye slid open, the clear nictitating membrane remaining in place, protection, for the great Cold-drake sensed a distant danger—or perhaps nought but a light threat.
Sluggishly he cast his senses forth, sweeping outward from Blackstone and into the vale beyond. What’s this? Men? Men in my domain? Cavernous laughter echoed in the Dragon’s mind. Surely this is not the threat I sensed.
Sleeth sifted his thoughts back through time to find an elusive memory: Thrice some paltry fools came knocking at my door. But Dwarves they were, not Men. Dwarven War parties. Seeking to reclaim that which I took for my own. And thrice I destroyed them. Fools!
Yet that was within the first century of my conquest.
But now these Men draw nigh.
Well and good, for it is better that my next meal come to me, rather than I to it.
Gauging the rate of their progress, Sleeth shifted his bulk slightly, settling deeper into the gold. Time enough. The yellow eye closed, and once again the Dragon’s mind fell into lustful dreams of power and destruction.
CHAPTER 13
Quarry
Late Summer, 3E1602
[The Present]
Leaving the slain Drōkha, Elyn and Thork fared easterly, into the rising Moon. A hostile truce stretched taut across the uneasy silence between them. Through the night they rode as the argent orb sailed up and across the crystal sphere. Yet now and again Elyn would feel the hair rise at the nape of her neck, as if some unseen evil glared at her. In these moments she would glance at Thork to find the Dwarf peering into the dark shadows Moon-streaming from rock, tree, bush, and thicket, his eyes seeking hidden enemies. But none were there. Even so, the vigilance of the twain did not lessen.
Slowly they fetched east, grey horse and dappled pony, bearing their burdens toward the distant borders of Aralan. At times a freshette would cross their path, and they would all drink of the clear water and rest a while, the two riders feeding small amounts of grain to their steeds, taking care of other needs as well. At other times dark hillocks loomed up before them, and they would swing wide to pass them by, for shadowy hillocks could conceal waiting foe.
At last the sky began to lighten, false dawn before them. And the two began to consider where they might camp and rest. But three more hours passed and the Sun was fully risen ere they found a suitable site: a low grassy knoll ’neath a lone shade tree near a stream slowly meandering across an open flat where ambuscades were unlikely.
“This time I will take the first watch, Dwarf,” said Elyn, as they tended to the needs of their mounts. “And though I am weary”—she glanced at the position of the Sun—“let us stand six and six, for I would rather sleep but once, instead of twice, though Adon knows I could stay aslumber the full day. And I will hunt close by once more during my ward, for I am in want of food.”
Thork merely grunted his assent, as he rubbed down his spotted steed.
Finally, the two carried their saddles and other goods up to the campsite, where, shrugging out of his armor, Thork cast himself upon his bedroll and was instantly asleep.
Again Elyn bathed in the stream and cared for her wounds, still tender, some raw, treating these with small amounts of salve and dressing them with fresh bandages, washing out the old. Then she took up her sling and bow and arrows and, treading with a slight limp, walked out upon the grassland, coming at last to an area raddled with burrow holes. Within the hour she had bagged seven fat prairie marmots. Leaving the warren behind, she gutted and cleaned the game, setting five to roast upon green-branch skewers over a small fire on the downwind side of the camp. When at last they were done, Elyn suspended four of them by their spits from the overhead tree branches; the other one she hungrily devoured.
Finishing her meal, Elyn washed in the stream and took a deep drink of the clear water, and then sat in the warm Sun, watching the breeze blow gently through the endless grass as she kept a careful lookout upon the plain. And high overhead a predator circled, catching Elyn’s eye, a red hawk on the wing. And the Warrior Maiden watched its questing pattern, her mind casting back to better days. And the hawk stooped, folding its wings and hurtling downward, plummeting toward unseen prey hidden from Elyn’s sight in the tall grass. Hai, Redwing, go! she silently urged, calling her own favorite bird to mind. And just ere plunging into the earth, the hawk flicked its wings outward, correcting its course, then hurtled into the grass beyond seeing. Elyn found that she was on her feet, but she could not recall standing up. Shading her eyes, long she gazed at the point where hunter had disappeared; and after silent while, the bird reappeared, wings hammering upward, slain coney clutched in its talons. As always, Elyn felt regret for the victim, while at the same time admiring the victor. And as the red hawk coursed northward, a thought came unbidden into her mind: What unseen stalker preys upon us, I wonder?
As her watch drew to an end, Elyn added to the fire and set the remaining two marmots to roast, and then awakened the Dwarf.
No sooner did her head touch her bedroll, it seemed, than Thork was shaking her awake. “Attack?” she hoarsely whispered, startling upward.
“Nay, Woman,” growled Thork, “but yon Sun sets.”
Elyn groaned, for how could it be that her rest was over when she had just lain down? Groggily, she accepted the cup of tea handed her, its bracing taste pressing back the web of her fatigue. Thork passed her some of the cooked meat he had stripped from the bones of her kill, wrapping the remainder in a cloth where it would keep for a day or so.
As twilight fell upon the land, they ate in silence, sipping tea, their eyes scanning the grasslands. At last in the dusk they broke camp and saddled their steeds, preparing to set forth again. They both accepted that they would travel easterly together one more night, though neither wished it so. “This is the last we fare in each other’s company, Dwarf,” said Elyn. “And though we have fought side by each to slay the common foe, I will be glad to travel alone once more.”
“I would be rid of you as well, Woman,” responded Thork, “for it is not my wish to be allied to a Rider.”
At these words, Elyn’s eyes flashed hotly, and she gritted her teeth, yet she held back her retort, knowing that this nighttide would be the last—tomorrow she would shed this . . . this cave dweller.
Again they set out as the land fell unto darkness, soon relieved by the rising Moon, now full to brimming, a great yellow orb that seemed to fill the whole horizon. And stars sprinkled the dark vault, adding their crystal glister to the night. An hour went by, and then another, and the Moon rode upward as they rode eastward, the orb seeming to grow smaller as up it sailed, becoming brighter as it climbed, changing from yellow to argent, its silvery light glancing across the land, vivid enough to see far and near. And within this platinum luminance, two warriors fared together, Châk and Vanadurin, soft radiance streaming all about them, and a quiet peace came to rest gently upon the twain.
Another hour receded into the past, and they stopped at a stream to take on water and refresh themselves, as well as to feed grain to the steeds. It was while they were standing thus that again a shiver of evil walked upon spide
r claws along their spines, and hastily Elyn and Thork mounted up, their eyes scanning the moonlit prairie, both standing in their stirrups to gain a better view.
“There,” hissed Thork, pointing to the south and east.
Elyn stared intently in the direction indicated. “I . . . I cannot see aught. . . . No, wait. Now I see it. A blot of darkness moving across the plain. Though what it is, I cannot say.”
“Châk eyes see better through dimness,” responded the Dwarf. “It is some force, afoot, twenty or thirty, I deem, and they move as if to intercept our course ahead.”
“Then let us ride, Dwarf, let us ride.” Elyn dropped into her saddle, touching her heels to Wind’s flanks, the grey springing forward, Thork’s dappled following after.
Swiftly they rode eastward, the horse at a canter, the pony at a gallop, the smaller mount now in the lead and setting the pace for the larger.
Thork kept his eyes upon the nearing force. “They have broken into a run,” he called to Elyn, “and seek to cut us off. Kruk! It is the Foul Folk, Ukh and Hrōk alike!”
But now in the fulgent light of the Moon, Elyn’s eyes could see the foe, loping ’cross the grassland, dull glints gleaming from their weaponry, or mayhap from their armor. “Angle leftward, Dwarf,” she cried, judging their speed, “and they’ll not e’en get within bow shot.”
Thork veered to the north and east, the little dappled racing at his uttermost, Elyn on Wind following after.
Now the Wrg set up ululating howls, breaking from a loping gait to a full-throated run, the taller Drōkha outdistancing the shorter Rutch as they sought to close the gap ere the twain were past.
And amid the wrauling, Elyn could hear the clatter of Rutchen armor and the pounding of iron-shod Wrg feet upon the earth—they were so near—racing to cut them off and haul down the two of them.
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